


Little Problems Along the Way - As Per Usual

by Neanmorra



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, torture in later chapter - will be tagged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neanmorra/pseuds/Neanmorra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saracen and Dexter are in pursuit of a band of thieves to retrieve a rare magical artefact. Only, when they catch up with them, the enemy is stronger than anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I am hungry”, Saracen whined, putting on an expression of utter dismay. “And my back hurts.”

Dexter shot him a glance from where he was sitting comfortably in the driver's seat. “Why did you not buy anything at the gas station we passed some hour earlier when we had to stop because you needed to pee?”, he sighed.

“Wasn't hungry back then”, Saracen mumbled and slouched in the passenger seat of the black Ford Mustang Dexter had 'organised', although he suspected him of having nicked it off some parking lot.

Vex pointed over his shoulder. “I still have some sandwiches in my rucksack. Go, fetch those if you want.”

Half-turning in his seat, Saracen fished for the strap of the leather bag and angled it towards himself before picking it up and started rummaging through it. With a cry of triumph he produced two slightly mushy and squished pieces of bread with an unintelligible topping wrapped in cling-foil. Sniffing them suspiciously, Saracen turned to Dexter. “You sure these are still good?”

Vex didn't even bother to steal a glance at the food; he was far more concerned deciphering a dusty street-sign that carved out a miserable existence on the soft shoulders of the road. “Yeah. Anyway, pass me the road map. I think I might need it.”

“What road map?” Saracen asked, having chosen starvation over food poisoning (or worse) and was currently stuffing the slices of bread back into the rucksack, not daring to wonder what else Dexter kept in there.

“The one you packed.”

“I didn't pack any road map.”

There was a silence. Then. “You didn't pack the road map?! Why, because you usually just know the way?”

“That is not how my powers work.”

Dexter snorted. “Yeah, like they work at all at the moment.”

“You are being unfair!” Saracen cried offended. “How was I supposed to know the amulet would drain my magic upon touching it?”

Vex put on an expression of utter concentration, as though he were thinking about something really intently. “I'm not sure … maybe by studying the dramatic sign that read something along the lines of 'DO NOT TOUCH OR YOUR MAGIC WILL BE ABSORBED'?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point”, Saracen grumbled and silence enveloped them. “Thank you, though.”  
Dexter glanced at the dark-haired man in curious surprise. “What for?”

“Aiding me getting the stolen amulet back.”

“Don't mention it.” Dexter smiled across at Saracen. “That's what friends are for, right? To help each other out. To hunt after the very same gang of thieves who managed to nick the amulet from right under your nose. To think that we only go after them because you have to paw everything all the time.”

Saracen smirked devilishly as he reached over to run a finger along the inside of Dexter's thigh before gently stroking his intimate area. “I never paw anything!”

“Jesus, Saracen! Not while I'm driving!” Dexter swatted his hand away but couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face. “I suppose the sign we just passed indicated a town two miles ahead. We are – admittedly – quite lost and it is getting dark already. What do you say, let's call it a day and find ourselves a nice hotel? I think the both of us deserve some rest.”

“I don't know if I will let you sleep just yet”, Saracen winked at his friend who in response shook his head laughing.

The town turned out to be not more than a bigger village harbouring close to five-hundred souls. As Dexter let the car slowly roll down the dusty main road which was already flooded by the orange light of the street-lamps in preparation for the swiftly advancing night, he noticed that there were little to no pedestrians at all and those who had ventured outside appeared to be in quite a hurry to get back into the safety of their own walls. Shrugging at this, Vex manoeuvred the Mustang into a vacant bay on the parking area in front of a vaguely flashy looking hotel running by the endearing name of Beech Hotel. “What do you say?” he asked as he leaned forward to give the façade of the building another examining look.

“Seems fine to me, although I find the name irritating: if you say it out loud it sounds like 'beach' which is downright fallacious! I would sue them were I ever promised a marvellous stay at a beach hotel only to be deceived like that.”

Dexter shook his head. “You had better tell the manager before he drowns in complaints.”

ooOoOoo

The hotel room itself was spacious yet not luxurious. There was a large double bed with lovely white and beige covers and cosy-looking pillows that had tiny hearts stitched onto them. The slender-legged bedside tables on either side bore reading lamps casting a comfortable yellowish light as well as thin pads and sharpened pencils. Across from the bed, in a corner next to a window leading out on the town, a huge dark-wooded closet clung to the kitschy rosy wallpapers that sported some sort of flowery decoration. Next to it and right in front of the double bed, a fashionable table invited to sit down and have a cup of tea. A vase of fake roses and other flowers rumoured to be romantic was set in the middle of the glass surface of the table.

“I knew this guy was up to something!” Saracen remarked dryly upon seeing their room. “Damn receptionist! He was way too smiley with us. How he smirked when we asked for a double bed.”

“Leave him be”, Dexter sighed wearily and dropped his rucksack on a chair standing at the table before collapsing on the bed face-first with a groan. “I love beds.”

“Will you get out of there!” Saracen slapped Dexter on the butt. “You reek! Go, take a shower!”

Groaning in frustration, the blond propped himself up on his elbow and shook his boots off of his aching feet. “Alright, alright.” He got up and grabbed Saracen by the wrist smiling slyly down at him. “But you are coming with me.”

Saracen smirked and let himself be dragged in the direction of the bathroom. “As you wish, beloved.”

After an hour of childish splashing in an enormous bathtub they had discovered in the surprisingly spacious bathroom, that involved playing with rubber ducks and foam, not to mention sensual kisses, both men were cosily wrapped in the fragrant covers of the bed. They had already turned out the lights and were now cuddling comfortably in the darkness.

Dexter had put his muscled arm around Saracen who lay snuggled up against him, head in the nook between shoulder and chest. He felt a cheeky finger trail on his breast before inching downwards and grabbed the insulting hand. “Not tonight, I am afraid I am too tired”, Vex said gently and pressed a kiss to Saracen's forehead who grumbled sleepily. “My, my, you are desperately in need of a lengthy rest.”

Saracen smiled and closed his eyes, stretching an arm over Dexter's bare torso, holding him close and it was in this position the couple fell asleep.

ooOoOoo

“Did you sleep well last night?” the waiter winked at Saracen and Dexter with barely concealed enthusiasm. It had turned out that the grinning receptionist also played the role of an annoying waiter during breakfast, apparently aspiring to read every wish from their eyes. Funnily enough, he almost completely ignored the handful of other guests peacefully sipping their tea and buttering their toasts. His black uniform had razor-sharp ironed creases and the brightly polished name badge he flaunted on his chest had the single word Noah stamped on it.

“Yeah, it was okay”, Saracen answered with a polite smile while Dexter still tried to pry his eyes open long enough to locate his cup of coffee on the richly laid table: the white tablecloth was nearly invisible beneath the heap of plates, glasses and bowls the Dead Men had balanced on a tray across from the buffet.

“Will you be on your way today again?” Noah fiddled with a damp cleaning rag and his dark brown eyes darted about the room as though he expected something to happen. He replaced the peculiar curl around his mouth with the well-known flashy smile that showed a lot of teeth, although it seemed kind of forced.

“Probably. We have some business to attend to.”

“Good! I mean … shame. Uh … anyway … was everything according to your expectations? Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” Dexter drew his eyebrows together to give his face a what-the-fuck-expression whilst half-turning in his seat and raised his hand in an exasperated gesture. 

“Right now I would find it fantastic if I could just eat my toast and drink my coffee without a beaming rainbow prancing about my table.”

The waiter's smile wrinkled and his eager air somehow deflated as he nodded courtly and retreated into the kitchen.

Saracen crunched down on his slice of buttered toast and inspected the muesli, picking out the raisins before drowning it in milk. “Come, Dex, don't give the man such a hard time. He is just friendly, is all.” He snickered at Dexter's glare and his dishevelled look: the blond mop of tousled hair was standing up in all directions and his shirt had a dark stain from where he had already spilled his coffee over himself. There was no doubt about Vex being a complete morning grouch and it was better to leave him in peace before he had had anything decent to eat.

“I hate friendly people”, Dexter growled and took a sip of coffee. “Especially in the morning. Ew, mornings. People.”

Saracen laughed and amiably patted his arm as he stared at the closed kitchen door. “Although, he did seem nervous about something.”

Dexter frowned, the coffee having revived his senses. “Yeah, he seemed rather fidgety. To think he said it was good we would be on our way today. Isn't that something odd to say for an employee of a hotel? Shouldn't he be urging us to stay?”

“Your brain already figured that out? Such a straining deduction before eight in the morning! I am impressed!”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe we freak him out because we are a gay couple?”

“Do you remember the pathetic amount of grinning and hyperventilating he did when we checked in yesterday? I think you recall the ridiculous room he has given us or do I have to remind you of that cute heart-shaped imprint on your cheek you woke up with because you have been cuddling that pillow with the silly stitchings?” Dexter huffed with a smile and continued his breakfast.

Saracen gasped in mock offence. “I never cuddle anything apart from you!”

Dexter took the hint and draped his hand over his eyes. “The imprint stands proof of your sinful love towards the fluffy pillow. Am I nothing to you? A fleeting affair that had to end with me on the other side of the bed, drowning in tears of rejection, cold and lonely.”

Their warm laughter carried across the room and the other guests smiled at the two friends.

Suddenly the swing doors leading into the fancy hall opened and a group of grim-looking men entered. They were in five, the leader taking in the room with one sweeping gaze before starting towards the two Dead Men. Their approach was not even half as dramatic as they probably were expecting because they had to wriggle their way through the strategically arranged tables. Murmurs grew louder as the sudden appearance of the men was discussed by the other guests. 

Almost at the same time, the kitchen door opened and the waiter appeared, smile sliding off his face as he spotted the intruders. He quickly set the tray he had been carrying aside, pushing over a glass of orange juice but paying it no heed and hastened towards them. He intersected them halfway between the door and the Dead Men's table and with a hushed voice immediately started to insistently talk to the arrogant-looking leader. Neither Saracen nor Dexter could make out the words.

Noah apparently had come to an arrangement with the strangers and motioned them to remain where they were as he hurriedly approached the Dead Men with an ashen face while his fingers were kneading the brim of his shiny black waistcoat. “I am so sorry, Gentlemen”, he mumbled. 

“These men … I … please leave.”

Dexter frowned. “You want to kick us out?”

Noah wore a desperate expression as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please, they want a word with you but I know, they will hurt you – badly.”

“Is that so? How come?” Saracen asked, stealing an unimpressed glance at the fear-instilling wedge-shaped formation the men had taken up as they slowly approached the table in a menacing manner. No worries there.

“Well … it is because … uh, how do I say this politely … you … you are …” Noah jumped when the leader of the men tapped him on the shoulder and ushered him out of the way. The waiter clutched his waistcoat even tighter as he worriedly looked at Saracen and Dexter who were still comfortably slouched in the cushioned chairs, a relaxed air about them.

The men formed a threatening semi-circle before the two mages who were expectantly looking up at them with raised eyebrows. “Yes? Can we help you? Perhaps point out the nearest barber?” Saracen smirked and nodded at the grisly beard sprouting on most of the men's cheeks and chins.

Noah gasped in horror, his pale face twisting in fear and the tip of his knobbly nose trembled visibly.

“Funny.” The leader of the group, a man in his beginning thirties, chuckled. He was the only one with a clean-shaven face and his blue eyes sparkled hatefully as he stared down at them. His entire composure radiated violence, reinforced by the obvious bulge of a pistol under his washed-out black leather jacket. Muscled arms were folded before his chest and his stance was broad as he clearly emitted self-control and authority. With four club-carrying hairy lumberjack-bouncers backing him up, that really was not that much of an accomplishment. His brown hair was falling in bangs over his brow but was otherwise relatively short-trimmed. With a sneer he looked Saracen and Dexter up and down. “My name is Spencer Brooks and I hear we have some new poofs in town.”

Dexter and Saracen glanced at each other, eyebrows almost disappearing into their hairlines, before they burst out laughing, drawing concerned looks from all around the room. It probably came as a surprise for most that the reaction to such a menacing statement was bubbling laughter. Especially since the offenders were obviously armed and heavily outnumbered the two Dead Men.

Saracen nudged Dexter in the ribs but never taking his eye off the growling men in whose demeanour there was now a hint of doubt detectable. “Poofs, huh?”

“How much money do we have?” Dexter asked undeterred as though he were just out window-shopping and had stumbled upon an unexpected must-have.

Saracen smirked. “Enough, rest assured.”

“You intend to bribe us, fag?” Spencer laughed incredulously. “Do you really think you are going to get off the hook so easily?”

“We are merely calculating how much damage to you and the hotel our wallets can bear but it seems we have it covered”, Dexter informed him with a grin.

“Our friends here honestly want to pick a fight with us thinking they can take us on. If they weren't so disgustingly gay I would pity them.” Spencer pulled the corners of his mouth into a sneer, expecting complimentary grunts from his beardy clique for his outstanding wit which followed suite.

“Saracen, remind me again, why have I been putting up with jerks like these for over two centuries now?” Dexter sighed. 

“Because you love me.” The dark-haired mage looked at him sweetly and smiled.

“Right. Then let's get this over with before my boiled egg gets cold. Stay behind me, darling!” 

Grinning he gestured dramatically in Saracen's direction, imitating a cliché action hero protecting his inevitable inapt love-interest who was not more than eye-candy in courtesy of the audience. None of them approved of the way the mortals had chosen to represent women in films and so they had taken delight in slipping into the roles of the sparkling hero and the is-just-there-to-be-rescued-while-looking-good-female now and then to mock the concept. When Vex stood the arrogant lad had to look up at him to meet his eye since the blond was half a head taller.

Saracen pushed himself up from the table as well and joined Dexter in towering over Spencer. The situation had changed: it was them who radiated steel-cold authority now as they faced the group of offenders who looked at one another, unsure what to do next. While it was not exactly a novelty that their chosen victims talked back and refused to be submitted simply by threatening looks, it was kind of unsettling that Saracen and Dexter smirked confidently and it was unusual that they appeared to be looking forward to the inevitable brawl.

“You sure about this, son?” Dexter asked patronisingly, knowing he would hit a nerve.

Raging black thunder-clouds drew together above Spencer's head and his face flushed a deep bordeaux-red as he turned to his friends brandishing baseball bats and short knives. He himself swung his arm back for a mighty punch. “Take them out!”

About a minute later Dexter and Saracen were again comfortably sitting at their table, happily continuing their breakfast as though nothing had happened. The other guests had fled the breakfast hall as soon as the mages had stood confrontationally and the air had begun to thicken and tense.

Noah was staring wide-eyed at the five unconscious men lying scattered about the room, splintered tables and amazing amounts of shattered dish-ware; clearly if they had wanted to smash this much, they would not have succeeded. He had followed the entire fight with unbelief peeking out from behind a serving-trolley that was piled high with dirty cups and bowls. Now he was scrambling to his feet again and approached Spencer who was lying face-down in the midst of the rubble, arms squeezed under his body. Tentatively, Noah poked the man with the tip of his sharply polished pointy black shoe and when there came no reaction he kicked him.

“No, no, you have to do that while he is still conscious”, Saracen lectured wisely but with a smirk spreading across his face as he invited the waiter with a gesture to take a seat at their table. He poured the waiter a steaming cup of tea and handed it to him. “Here, calms the nerves.”

Noah stared at Dexter inspecting Saracen's muesli before claiming it as his own and crunching down on the crispy bits. “I … you”, he stuttered and looked down at his neatly folded hands. 

“Thank you.”

Saracen laughed. “What for? Smashing your hotel to pieces? Don't worry, we will pay for the damage.”

“Nobody ever dared to stand up against them”, Noah said quietly kneading his waistcoat again.

“And with 'nobody' you mean the entire town … not taking on five men. I don't mean to insult you but that is kind of lame”, Dexter pointed out.

“As if! They are but underlings for the dirty work. The wire-pullers are a group of people who have taken over the town about half a year ago. They arrived, had the then mayor, Mr. Andrews, disappear without a trace and claimed his position, taking up residence in the town hall. But I shouldn't be telling you all of this or you will get mixed up in this mess even more than you already have. Those men are dangerous, people who stand in their way vanish or worse things happen to them.”

“What is this, The Godfather?” Saracen laughed, biting into a red juicy apple.

Noah smiled wearily and took a sip of fruity tea only to wince at the bitterness and poured half of the sugar bowl into the cup. “Things have changed around here – dramatically if I may say so. Spencer and his little gang are but the tip of the iceberg for there are about a dozen other groups terrorizing the inhabitants of this town. Personally, I don't think the big bosses care about that trifle but they let those who stand under their protection go rampant throughout the city.”

“And what do they care about?” Saracen's coffee had gone cold but he paid it no heed as he leaned forward, eager to learn more about this matter. His brown eyes were shining with excitement and Dexter had to stop himself from smiling lovingly; Saracen was always so inquisitive and curious upon encountering a riddle or something that did not add up so that he later could claim to have known it all along.”

“I really shouldn't say”, Noah hesitated, visibly at war with himself whether to drag these strangers into something they might not be able to get out of alive. “I would not want to endanger you even further …”

Dexter smiled comfortingly at the waiter. “Tell us, we might be able to help.”

Noah snorted unhappily. “We cannot be helped and especially not by just two men – no offence; they have turned this entire area into a smuggler-nest. Every time we tried to contact the police and they ventured out here to investigate or interrogate the persons in question, they exit the town hall completely dazed and don't remember what exactly they had been wanting in this place. We think they are bribed with horrendous amounts of money or simply hypnotized like in those documentaries they show you on television.”

“So, this is The Godfather!”

“At night black trucks roll through the streets, laden with stolen goods to be transported to an abandoned ware-house at the outskirts of the town where they do God only knows what with them. Sometimes the land about is flooded with a strange light and weird sounds fill the night.”

“Those people – what are they like?” Dexter asked.

“They are normal men and women if you don't take their … strange look into account, like they don't really fit in here, they dress in antiquated garments and seem … old or rather wise, even though none of them looks older than forty. We call them The Old Ones.”

“How many are there?”

“About eight or nine.”

“Not more?” Saracen sounded surprised.

Noah blushed and looked down bashfully. “There is no need, they do a pretty good job in converting decent town's people into thugs who in turn restrain the rest of us. Threats, beatings, imprisonments and so forth. It has got to be hypnosis!”

“Can you tell me the big boss's name?” Dexter wanted to know. A steep crease had appeared on his brow as he began to fathom who those mysterious Old Ones might be.

“Uhm … one of them I think is called Leontion Drawn. He is the one Spencer gets his orders from when he is not up and about to terrorize gay people.”

Saracen smiled and looked at Dexter knowingly. “My, my, if that is not an unusual name.”

Noah nodded in agreement. “Now that you mention it, all their names are peculiar.”

Dexter looked at Saracen questioningly who nodded in return. “Noah, I am delighted to announce that this town is of such lovely quality that me and my dear friend have decided to stay a few more days.”

The waiter's eyes widened and he sat up straight in his chair as he gestured wildly with his hands. 

“No! You cannot! They will kill you … please … Mr. Vex, we can handle this ourselves. I beg of you to leave.”

Dexter leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Noah's shoulder. “I am afraid you won't be able to do anything against them but we do. Saracen and me, we … uh, are trained in confronting people like the Old Ones.”

“Military?”

“Sort of. Special division for anti-Mafia … combat. We are the ones standing up for justice and for those who cannot protect themselves, who have never seen battle and do not dare to fight the evil forces at hand. Basically, we burn out those kind of Mafia-clans which are using … mortal, I mean, innocent people like you for their own skulduggery.” He ignored Saracen's deadpan look as well as the face-palm that followed and continued to smile encouragingly at the waiter and finally the corners of Noah's mouth twitched into the shadow of a hopeful smile.


	2. Chapter 2

After the delicious meal Dexter and Saracen both leaned back in their chairs contently, having enjoyed the peace and quiet of the abandoned breakfast-hall. Just before the short but violent brawl had started the other guests had left their eggs and bacon steaming hot on their plates and had bolted from the room. That there were five unconscious men now lying in various uncomfortable positions around the room had not managed to affect their good mood at all.

Even Noah, the ever-smiling slightly fidgety waiter aka receptionist had left them in the destroyed hall after their little chat; he had mumbled something about soothing the other guests' nerves.

“You had to say it, hadn't you?” Saracen accused exasperatedly and pointed his fork at Dexter.

Vex lovingly petted his filled belly and stretched, arching his back over the backrest of the chair before picking up a spoon, idly playing with it. “What?”

“Skulduggery.”

“It is a perfectly ordinary word to be used in a conversation should the situation demand it. Had Noah been talking about Saracens, I would have been forced to use that term as well”, Dexter lectured with a grin and watched his husband rub the bridge of his nose as if he were fighting an oncoming headache.

“You are vexatious”, Saracen finally sighed with a small loving smile.

“See, you are getting the hang of it.”

Saracen propped his elbows up on the tabletop, lacing his fingers together and leaned forward to raise an eyebrow expectantly. “What's the plan? Do we even have a plan?”

“No.”

“Straight-forward and brutally honest. I like it. Not that it is going to help us in the current situation we have managed to manoeuvre ourselves into. We are going up against sorcerers which has never proven to be a piece of cake, especially because there is no way we can use our powers – not in public in front of dozens of gawking civilians.”

Dexter smirked. “Like you are able to call on yours at all.”

Saracen glared but chose to ignore the tease. “Right. Not helping. Should we not concentrate on getting them back before we engage in what is likely, no definitely, going to degenerate into a ridiculously violent brawl at the end of which we are forced to call in to request a mass memory alteration? Again.”

“We are dealing with smugglers here who possibly hire mortals or perhaps other mages to steal magical artefacts which are then transported to this warehouse Noah has spoken of. I bet the big bosses inspect the goods before either altering them so nobody but buyers would recognize their true worth or selling them right away on the black market.”

Saracen nodded. “True enough … but uh, let's get back to the topic of my still missing powers, shall we?”

Dexter waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, chances are good those people are the very same ones who nicked that damn thing to flog it off to some rich douche who wants to hang it on his wall. All we have to do is hinder them from doing so by kicking their asses and get hold of the amulet.”  
Frowning, Saracen leaned back and crossed his arms. “What if they don't have it? Or sold it? Or molten it into a chunk of cheap metal and emerald?”

“I am certain they would be just dying to give us all the information we need if we just ask nicely enough and knowing us, that should not be a problem.” Dexter put on an evil smirk but his eyes still sparkled with a joyful glee Saracen had come to love over the years. “Not like your powers gave you exceptional combat skills anyway”, he mumbled with an impish grin while casually inspecting his fingernails.

“What was that, honey? What are you muttering into your metaphorical beard?” Saracen stressing the nickname the way he did let Dexter know he was in for trouble.

“Gosh, Saracen, I am teasing! Would never even think of belittling your powers, especially not while in combat; you saved my life too often for me not to be impressed every time you know stuff that nobody would have guessed might be relevant.”

Saracen was still squinting suspiciously but stopped scowling. “Fine. What about Spicy and the lumberjacks?” He nodded towards Spencer who lay face-down in the splintered and shattered remains of a table, arms tangled somewhere beneath his body. It looked uncomfortable. It probably was.

“We can't let them go, that is for sure. They will run to daddy with their tails between their legs and spill the beans. I am not certain but they even might have caught our names and if they relate those we are in for some nasty trouble. We have gained quite the reputation as members of the Dead Men”, Dexter groused and ran a hand through his blond mop of hair.

Saracen waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, we just need the right disguise -”

“No”, Dexter interrupted and pointed a finger at the brown-haired, squinting. “I know what you are going to say next and I am not willing to wear a dress … again.”

Saracen smirked. “It suited you!”

Dexter huffed and smiled matter-of-factly. “Well, of course, it was on me. Still, I do have to respect women for wearing an outfit as difficult as this. You ought to be very careful how you move.”

“Moustache then?”

“No”, Dexter growled and drew his brows together to underline his deep displeasure.

“What do you say about sight-seeing then?”

Vex groaned exasperated as he watched his husband bounce on his chair eagerly. “This is just a big game to you, isn't it?”

ooOoOoo

Upon deciding that they needed more information about the matter they had agreed to investigate their sight-seeing tour drew the two men towards the enemy-infested townhall. It had turned out in the past that it was always better to be informed about what was going on before confronting offenders with their crimes. There had once been a highly unfortunate incident where the intel the Dead Men had been provided had turned out to be flawed and porous. To them it had come as a shock when it was revealed that their contact, the distant relative of the colleague of the son of their friend's sister, had messed up and given them the wrong address. It had been embarrassing for lack of a better word. Apologizing had never been their strong suit and after busting into the living room of a mortal family who was in the progress of contently eating dinner and watching a children's movie instead of illegally manufacturing handbags made of werewolf fur, they had been forced to do a lot of bowing and sweeping. They had not been very good at it.

As to their newly found friend Spencer. Him, they had locked into the hotel's boiler room which had eventually won the head-to-head race in the competition of the most suitable and convenient storage place to stash their prisoners. It was a relatively warm if stuffy vault and the door was a massive sound-proof block of metal that would withhold every physical onslaught for days. The only downside and strongest argument in favour of the potato cellar with the iron barred door was that one had to open the door to either feed the men or talk to them.

Of course they had tried to interrogate Spencer who turned out to be tougher than his behaviour suggested, yet all they were able to get, were heaps of lies. They had left it at that, refusing to use methods on a mortal neither of them would be proud of.

Instead, they headed into town and Noah had done his best at giving them directions but somehow Dexter and Saracen were lost – again.

“Why does this always happen when I am with you?” Saracen asked, genuine curiousness lacing his voice.

“What?”

“Getting lost.”

A smirk crossed Dexter's face. “Well, beautiful, I like having you to myself and what better place is there than a dark alleyway?”, he drawled dangerously.

Saracen jabbed his elbow in Vex' ribs and turned his head away to hide the redness flaring on his cheeks. “Shut up.”

Dexter laughed and took Saracen's hand in his, lacing their fingers together as they continued to saunter through the lively streets, occasionally greeting people who were staring at them and especially at their entwined hands.

ooOoOoo

In the restricted area of the ominous warehouse Noah had mentioned, a ginger woman was in the process of checking her notes that were strewn about on her desk. She wore a stylish black suit screaming business at the top of its lungs along with an icy cold expression. Her frosty exterior cracked slightly when someone tried contact her via telepathy and the usual dull pain accompanying the sensation began to throb at the back of her head.

“Master Corvo”, Spencer greeted.

“Why do you use telepathy?”

Spencer cringed internally. “I … uh … I am indisposed and unable to come round. We … uh ran into a couple of fags and - “

“Don't you DARE drain my energy using telepathy in order to inform me that you got your pathetic arse whipped!”, Corvo hissed inside her mind, feeling satisfaction when her puppet shrank back before mustering up some scrap of courage to speak again.

“Master, I have valid information.”

Corvo waited as Spencer made a pause for dramatic effect. She could see her patience bar diminish, and rapidly.

“Those men were different.”

“Different how?”

“Even though they have not shown their true faces, I am fairly certain they were Old Ones.”  
Corvo's insides grew even colder but not because she might have been afraid; no, she was seething with anger. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing, Master”, Spencer replied, the pride clear in his voice. Corvo curled her lips in annoyance. Her puppet was supposed to be rid of all emotion after she had carved his soul out and attached his malleable body to metaphorical silky silver strings - and yet he had these moments when he felt things such as pride or hatred. However, had it not been for Spencer's deeply running homophobia she probably never would have known about the mages sniffing around town. Most certainly sanctuary officials.

“Did you per chance catch their names?”

“Just one; Saracen. At least that is what his companion called him.”

The ginger woman smiled and a business-like calmness took hold of her. Well, well, Saracen Rue himself; then his partner had to be one of the Dead Men as well. Oh, how she hated them, all entitled and arrogant in their demeanour, always fighting for the people and the innocent. “His partner? Who is he? What does he look like?”

“Blond, big and muscled.”

“Dexter Vex”, Corvo stated flatly. A short pause ensued. “Thank you, Spencer for your overall helpful observation; your conscientiousness is appreciated and I will take it from here.”

“Thank you, Master. Uh … what about me?”

“What about you?”

“Will I, you know … be rescued?”

“They won't kill you, they are the good guys”, Corvo answered absent-mindedly, letting Spencer know that the conversation was over. She smiled as slowly a plan began to take form: perhaps the appearance of these pesky clowny sorcerers could prove useful to her after all. 

ooOoOoo

Meanwhile, the two mages were loitering in front of the imposing townhall, pointing at random things just like tourists would when strolling through a foreign town. 

“Goon approaching at your six. I need a distraction to slip away”, Dexter whispered but never stopped taking photos of what he deemed rich architectural achievements. It was mostly pillars with funny-looking things on them.

“Got it”, Saracen acknowledged and raised his voice while pointing at the entrance of the guildhall. 

“What a marvellous, imposing, majestic gate, don't you think?”

“Absolutely!” Dexter nodded fiercely to underline Saracen's statement just as the guard came to a halt next to them. His movements were smooth, screaming military and while his expression was civilian-friendly, there was no doubt he would take them down should they give him a reason to. Sneezing might be already too much.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

Saracen beamed. “Well, I do hope so! Do you work here? Yes? Say, when was this building erected?”

“I am sorry, I don't-”

“The ashlar fundament with those hewn blocks of stone remaining slightly rough to the touch! Beautiful! It is Gothic, right? Or does it stem from the Romantic era? Maybe the Carolingians poured their knowledge into this downright awe-inspiring building as well? The profane architecture speaks volumes! You see the achantus-ornaments on top of those pillars flanking the gate? It means those columns were inspired by the Corinthians! The Corinthians, can you imagine?”   
Saracen saw Dexter slip out of the guard's peripheral vision and duck behind an accurately cut hedge which was encircling the fortress-like building like an additional defence. Before the goon could notice Dexter's disappearance, however, Saracen was already going on about the rich stucco that apparently covered the entire front of the townhall.

He was rudely interrupted in his cultural and architectural excesses when the guard's thread of patience was cut entirely by the static function of the main gate of the townhall.

“Sir, I need you to leave at once.”

“What? But what about the abstract forms of the ornamen-”

“Get lost or else I'll call the dogs. This is private property … wait a second. Weren't you in two? Where is the other guy?”

Saracen looked about with a steep crease of anger forming on his brown. “This philistine! How can he miss out on the blind arcades which are so prominent -”

“Just shut up already and get lost!”

“Alright, alright.” Saracen put on an offended expression which didn't move the goon in the least and went back the way they had come. He took his time wandering about the streets until he eventually settled down in a vintage-looking café he and Dexter had chosen for their rendezvous on the way here. It was small but cosy and the waiting staff was exceptionally friendly.

Twenty minutes later Vex came sauntering down the road and Saracen couldn't help but noticing how good he looked in his black muscle shirt and the aviators. Hadn't he been in public, there was a high probability he would have started to drool but since Saracen had no intention of freaking out the people of this town even more, he simply fought to turn back his cheeks a reasonable colour.

When Dexter finally flopped down into a chair opposite Saracen, the brown-haired was brimming with curiosity. “So? What do they plan? What kind of scheme to reign over the world did you uncover?”

“Nada.”

Saracen blinked. “What?”

“The townhouse is clean or at least as clean as it can get. Unlike they show in movies, there were no heavy metal doors that require a retinal scan or fingerprint identification. Nor could I find any trace of stolen goods. Even magic seemed to be scarce in the building.”

“What about plans, maps, charts, illegal shipping records? No? Not even a list with contracted assassins?” Saracen wanted to know, the poorly hidden disappointment obvious in his voice. “Not even a parking fine notice?”

Dexter took his lover's hand in his, kissed his knuckles and shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, baby.” He ignored Saracen's deadpan look and smirked but didn't let go of his hand. “My guess is, they use the townhouse as a front for important visitors such as the police or other public services they can bribe or perform a memory alteration on.”

“So the warehouse is their main base”, Saracen concluded. “I say we check it out, find the amulet, get my powers back and kick their asses.”

“Well said, my dear! Well said indeed.”

It was past ten in the evening when the Dead Men arrived at the warehouse Noah kindly had given them directions to after they had been back at the hotel, detouring. Vex had parked the Mustang behind the last house of the small town and they had covered the last few hundred meters on foot.

The warehouse turned out to be an ugly slab of concrete set at the border of the forest which already threatened to reclaim some ground. The only thing that kept the trees at bay was a high wire-fence topped with razor-blades and glass shardes. There were several smaller buildings meant to look professional and aloft but in reality they were nothing more than fancy garden sheds. The main building, however was equipped with a massive metal roller door that opened via remote control. Unless there was another more stealthy way in, they would have to think of something more complex and overall clever. As for now, they were happy with just watching and observing. 

Saracen and Dexter had had no problems breaching the wire-fence and hiding away behind a conveniently sprouting group of bushes. Like schoolboys squatting in the undergrowth eavesdropping on their teachers the mages cowered behind the vegetation, only just peeping out.

“Dex, that woman”, Saracen whispered urgently and fought the impulse to point his finger like a two-year old. Firstly, it was rude and secondly it most likely would have led to them being discovered and executed in a dreadful way. “Is that not Mila Corvo?”

Dexter squinted and nodded. “That is her alright. What is she doing here?”

“Looks like talking to someone on a cell phone to me.”

Vex rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Saracen smirked in the darkness. “Yeah, but it is way more fun to annoy you.”

“You're an ass”, Dexter grumbled and resumed to watch the red-haired woman who had stepped outside one of the smaller huts into the clear night to make a phone call. “This is quite troublesome. You know what kind of a religious nut job Corvo is. Wasn't she the one serving under Baron Vengeous? His right hand's left hand or something?”

Saracen winced at the thought. “Uh, she was more like a weird priestess who worshipped the Faceless Ones above all else if I remember correctly and believe you me, I do remember correctly. If she has decided to make an appearance, this is bigger than we initially thought.”

“What are the chances she is behind all of this, the big faceless boss Noah mentioned and was too scared to talk about?”

“Did you just-”

“No”, Dexter smirked devilishly.

“I swear, you are the worst at making jokes and your puns lack creativity and are just not funny.”

Vex pressed his left hand over his heart and put on an agonised expression. “I guess the proverb is wrong, sticks, stones and words hurt.” When Saracen did nothing more than raise an eyebrow at him, Dexter went back to watching their object of interest.

Saracen gently nudged Dexter in the ribs, careful not to move hastily or else he might attract a sharp-eyed guard's attention. “Any chance of peeking inside?” he whispered shooting a quick glance at the blond.

Vex shook his head, still staring intently at the concrete building before them. “Too dangerous. These floodlights they have turn this whole area into a football-field and I am sure the place is crawling with guards, dogs and if we are really lucky, vampires.”

“What do we do?” Saracen turned his attention back to the warehouse in front of which Corvo was still speaking on the phone. “You know as well as me that this red-head fought under Baron Vengeous. If she is here, there is some darn godly business involved as well; you think she still wants to bring the Faceless Ones back?”

Dexter shrugged. “I think we have seen enough and since we now know who and what we are up against, I'd say the safest solution would be to retreat and forge a watertight plan of attack.” With a last slightly concerned glance towards Mila Corvo, he started to crawl backwards, slowly disappearing into the shadows behind him. Saracen followed equally noiselessly. 

It was only back at the hotel that either of them spoke a word for both mages had been lost in thought, either thinking of a way to bypass the security of the warehouse or pondering the motives of their enemy. Stolen magical artefacts, a frightened, subdued town in the middle of nowhere and a member of an occult church. How were those pieces supposed to fit together? Well, nothing they couldn't find out by sticking their noses into business that was not theirs for starters and thus better be left alone.

When the mages walked into the lobby and crossed the light brown fluffy yet trod-out carpet, Noah scampered out of his chair and to his feet with a big smile on his face welcoming them. Rounding the desk, the receptionist beamed with poorly concealed joy, making Dexter huff in amusement. Despite the late hour the squirrelly Irishman was still up, similar to a concerned parent unable to get some sleep while their children were out hitting the clubs.

“You made it back alive! To be honest, I had my doubts but seeing you as healthy as ever really lifts my spirits. Did you find something out?”

Saracen smiled and nodded. “Yup. I will let Dexter fill you in about our findings and go on ahead; I have an appointment with a soft and comfy bed.” With a round of amiable laughter at his back and a friendly pat on the butt by his lover, Saracen walked to the stairs and began the long and agonising ascend to the second floor.

The door clicked shut behind Saracen who yawned and arched his back, a pitiful attempt of banishing some tiredness from his body. Relieving himself of his jacket and long-sleeved shirt, he dumped the garments onto the chair at the table. He was about to pull his shirt over his head as well when he felt the hairs at the back of his neck and on his arms rise, making his skin prickle. It was like someone or something was watching him; watching him the way a predator would stalk their prey. Since there was no visible imminent danger, Saracen moved in a deliberate and calculated levity to the massive bed where he knew would be sitting his bag containing more than just one weapon. He glanced around the room but could not make out what made him uncomfortable up to a point where he wanted nothing more than arm himself to the teeth.

The door to the bathroom was only half-open, gaping blackness behind beyond. Could there be someone hiding inside? Saracen cursed under his breath; he missed his powers already. Sauntering, he moved to the far side of the bed, putting it between him and the bathroom and casually unzipped his bag but when he looked inside, his scimitar was gone as well as every knife, gun or stick he might have owned at one point. Well, that was quite suboptimal and highly annoying.

Saracen looked up, an irate vertical crease forming on his brow between his eyebrows. “Come out, come out whoever you are! We could have settled this with words, maybe one or two punches if necessary but now I am actually considering fighting you head-on.”

He watched as a young woman clad in black materialized out of the shadows next to the table. The darkness coiled and slithered around her. “And why is that?”

Saracen drew a dagger from the scabbard on the small of his back which he liked to keep in case it was unfit to drag a scimitar with him; it was rarely tolerated on public means of transport. “You took away all of my weapons safe for this right here which suggests you want to either kill or even capture me. Or capture and then kill me, which would be even worse. Corvo sent you, eh?”

“I do not talk about my mission, I carry it out”, the woman replied, her cold voice matching the pale face that looked even more severe since she had her short black hair tied back in a pony tail. Although her figure seemed petite Saracen was not fooled for a second – he knew, one wrong thought, one wrong strategical move and even without using necromancy, she would wipe the floor with him. The long-sleeved black shirt complimented her muscled arms and shoulders while she had a nasty-looking knife girt at her hip. She was an imposing sight, all strength and power which when directed at oneself was quite worrisome. What was probably the most disturbing thing about her appearance however, were the pitch-black eyes which showed no white and seemed to bear right into Saracen. 

“You have been doing too much talking for a professional assassin already”, he taunted condescendingly, hoping to hit a nerve.

The Necromancer scowled for a moment, then smiled and suddenly strands of blackness shot up Saracen's body and had he not expected something similar to happen, the fight would have been over before it had even begun. Like this, he dove sideways onto the bed and pushed himself off before a shadow speared through the covers.

“There are different ways to catch a fly.”

Cursing, Saracen deflected another sharp block of darkness with his narrow dagger and attempted to push forward. Through his provocation he had hoped to learn what the woman's necromancy-item was but she had not even moved and he had not taken his eyes off-

The eyes.

 

Eyes as a vessel to capture shadows and darkness and use them to control the night itself. There were always weirdos.

Saracen's lunge came to an abrupt end when he was hit by a blast of air that smashed into his left side and sent him crashing into the small table opposite the gigantic bed. The glass plate shattered under his weight and the mage went down in a hail of shards and splinters. Shaking his head Saracen scrambled to his feet again, only to feel tendrils of shadow already coiling up his legs.

The Elemental that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere (this never would have happened had he been in full possession of his powers) smiled smugly and hurled a fireball which Saracen deflected with his dagger before leaping forward to stab the Necromancer in the chest – she blinked and the shadows around his left leg dug into his flesh, turned sharp and tore away at his skin. 

The Elemental, a dark-skinned woman in her late thirties, snapped her fingers again and teasingly let the fireball dance on her fingertips. Brown eyes sparkled and black hair glowed in the orange light of the flame. It was the Elemental's expression edged into her face which made Saracen shrink back: rarely had he seen such trembling excitement in a person at the prospect of hurting another human being. Saracen disliked her already and the Necromancer was just creepy. If he thought about it more intently, they were both creepy as hell.

A plan. He needed a plan. 'The door? Too far. The window? Too high. If I don't resolve this within the next few minutes, I am dead', Saracen thought frantically as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating from his injured limb. A scream ripped from his throat as the shadows picked him up and smacked him against the wall right next to the bed where he crumpled to the floor. The dagger made a dull muffled sound as it hit the carpeted floor and bounced just out of his reach. Saracen rolled to the side and a fireball burnt a black hole into the rug where he had just been cowering.

Snarling, Saracen grabbed his weapon and avoiding thin tendrils of shadow he sprang forward and plunged the blade into the Necromancer's side, making her open her mouth in surprise but no sound came over her lips. Being full well aware of the fact that this manoeuvre had exposed him completely to the Elemental, he readied himself for the inevitable push against the air or fireball; there was no time to move and as soon as his dagger had found its mark he was taken off of his feet and sent sprawling.

A fireball singed his left arm and Saracen hissed in pain but leaped to his feet quickly and almost as agile as ever. The only negative thing about this was that the inflicted stab wound had injured the Necromancer but it didn't seem to bother her at all. Smiling she pulled the dagger out of her body and threw it into the bathroom – forever out of Saracen's reach.

“You think this is going to stop me? Is that all you got?”, he teased the two women but to his surprise they only shared a look before turning back to their prey.

“Together?” the Elemental asked and flames flared up in her palms facing the ceiling.

“Aye. We don't really have time to waste”, was the court response and shadows began to coil and writhe. 

Now Saracen really was in trouble. He had no other weapon than his body and was heavily outnumbered while not even wearing protective clothing. His leg throbbed and his arm burnt as though little devils were leaving their fiery imprints on his skin. Plus, his assailants looked more than just confident which stirred Saracen's anger. “Bring it!” he shouted and threw himself at the first person to stand between him and the door.

Saracen's physical attack was met with a spear of darkness sent from the black-eyed woman while her companion pushed against the air with one hand as though she were wiping an insect off of her freshly washed tunic.

Saracen was able to contort in such a way that the spear was pushed off course by the gust of air yet consequently had no defence at the ready for the roundhouse kick that hit him in the chest. He could both hear and feel one or two ribs crack under the raw strength that was delivered in the kick as he smacked into the rosy wallpaper once again with two shadows immediately coiling around his arms, stretching them upwards and to the sides. Saracen's broken ribs protested with the sudden movement and his face contorted in pain as the Necromancer controlling the shadows ordered them to grip tighter and even grow a slight edge which cut into the mage's flesh as soon as he moved. It was like this they finally brought him down on his knees.

'Dexter', Saracen thought desperately as the black-eyed Necromancer towered over his restrained and kneeling form. 'Where are you, baby? Please, I need you.'


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout the entire conversation with Noah, Dexter could not shake the feeling that he was missing something important. Centuries of fighting as a member of the Dead Men behind enemy lines had drilled some helpful instincts into him and although the war had ended years ago, he still reacted to these instincts without hesitation. It was what had kept him and his friends alive all this time and most likely would continue to do so in the future.

“Are you listening, Mr. Vex?”

Dexter pushed his concerned thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment but never left them completely out of sight. “Sure. Uh, hey, listen, Noah. Me and Saracen are very grateful that you are letting us stay for free during the time of our … investigation.”

“Not a problem at all”, Noah shrugged with a smile but turned serious rather quickly. “We ought to be thankful and appreciative of your help and support, Mr. Vex. I cannot think of anyone else willing to risk their lives against a foe so powerful. I mean, the police were helpless against the Old Ones.”

Vex forced a smile onto his lips, his thoughts running back and forth as to what might have triggered his uneasiness. He really hoped all he needed was a bag of sleep and cuddles from Saracen but if experience had taught him anything at all, then it was never to trust the most reasonable explanation. “I think I need to head upstairs as well, see if Saracen has left some warm water for me.”

Noah nodded. “I will remain here and make sure nobody tries to stab you in your sleep”, the receptionist said and put on a brave face while at the same time turning bright red when he realized what he had just uttered. “Oh, sorry... I- I uh, didn't, I mean, I …”

Dexter stopped Noah's rambling apology with the wave of his hand, showing him his trademark loopsided smile. “Wouldn't be the first time. Don't beat yourself up about it.” An encouraging pat on the shoulder later, Dexter was already heading towards the stairs. With every step his anxiousness increased and his chest tightened making him subconsciously quicken his pace. With all the worries rushing through his mind, there was one in particular standing out. What if Saracen was in trouble?

'Come on, Vex, Saracen is a big boy, he can take care of himself. Don't you go all overprotective mother-hen on him', the mage thought optimistically and even chuckled as the image of him as a hen popped into his mind. However, none of this helped him feel any less concerned and on edge.

“Well, I'll be damned”, Dexter cussed under his breath when he realized the sweat pearling on his brow was caused by a crawling fear stinging under his skin like a thousand needles.

The mage reached the door to their room and stared at the plain golden 6 hanging above the small darkened fish eye for a moment. Then he gently rapped his knuckles against the painted wood. 

“Saracen?” Dexter called softly. When there came no answer, he fumbled the old-fashioned key from his jeans pocket and pushed it into the key hole. “You'd better just be enjoying a bath, mate”, he grumbled and pushed the door open while at the same time pulling a small hunting knife from his boot.

When Dexter stepped into the small corridor leading to the bedroom and adjoining bathroom his senses were sharpened to a shattering degree. Although the light in the main room was switched on, he could not hear anything that pointed to his husband being here. “Saracen?” he called out again, a wary undertone ringing in his voice. “You here, darling?”

Carefully, the mage peeped into the bedroom and his heart skipped a painful beat. The room was in ruins, the covers of the bed sliced open and singed in more than one spot. Next to the bed he saw that someone or something had burnt out a considerate piece of carpet, the fringy rims of the hole still smoking while the beautiful glass table had been shattered completely. A quick glance into the bathroom uncovered nothing and once Dexter had come to the final conclusion that he was alone he sank onto the bed, tears stinging at his eyes.

Saracen.

They had taken his husband while he had been busy chit-chatting with Noah, laughing and enjoying himself. Saracen had fought for his life, probably calling out his name in despair but he had not been there. Gnawing guilt threatened to overwhelm him as he pictured Saracen defending himself against an army of hooded figures, sorcerers no less, with no powers helping him. He had not been there for his lover and now Saracen had been kidnapped; who knew what they would do to him – if he was still alive.

'Stop! Don't think like that, Vex!' he ordered himself, rubbing at his face and trying to keep his mind from slipping. It had happened before when Larrikin had sacrificed himself for him, taking on the full force of Serpine's attack. Back then he could literally feel his mind slipping away from him, leaving him without control over it. Random thoughts would pop up in his head and rushing through, scenarios where he killed himself in a hundred different ways over. Dexter had thought he never would have to deal with something like that ever again. He needed to calm down, nothing was lost, there was hope. He ran his fingers through the blond mop of tousled hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Having a minor breakdown over his husband's kidnapping would not bring Saracen back any sooner; it was up to him to take the situation in hand.

Slowly his mind began to work again, the metaphorical teeth of the gears gripping once more, bringing his thought process back to life. Telling himself positive and encouraging phrases over and over as though he were playing a soothing cassette tape in his head he regained control over his mind again. However, with the ability to think straight once again came the anger. Self-pity was banned to the back of his head along with overprotective concern. While Dexter still felt horrified as to what they might be doing to Saracen in this very moment he had more or less managed to convince himself that his husband was pretty capable of handling the situation he must be finding himself in. Had there not been countless times when either one of them had been abducted during the War? Had they not worn down and annoyed their captors up to a point where reckless bravery and obnoxious bravado had completely overruled the roaring fear within?

Dexter did not feel brave nor bold. Dexter was furious. White hot wrath surged through his body, filled every corner of his existence and nearly blinded him.

Saracen.

They had laid hands on his lover, on the one person he had promised the rest of his life to, the one person he cared about more than anyone or anything else in this universe and they had hurt him. They had dared to take Saracen away from him.

“That was the only mistake you could have made you jerks”, Dexter whispered and when he stood a manic smirk began stretching from ear to ear. He rounded the bed and picked up his rucksack containing the majority of his weapons and his combat clothes. Or at least that was what he expected to find when he looked inside. While his protective suit was still here – miraculously, everything that could have been used to induce pain had vanished. Dexter raised his eyebrows until they were almost taken in by his hairline, then shrugged and started retrieving the various pieces of his combat suit from his bag. “I don't need no damn weapons to kick your puny asses”, he hissed under his breath. “I will use my fists to teach you a fucking lesson.”

Five minutes later Dexter locked the door to their room and headed to the stairs, a hard expression edged into his face. While he had firmly pushed his guilt and concern to the back of his head, there was still the wrath he had to keep under check, yet as Dexter had come to realize it was fuelling him. He had been worried his thoughts would go crazy, however, his strategies and plans materialized crystal clear in his mind. Expecting an assault at any time given, Dexter was hyper-aware of his surroundings when he stalked down the stairs and entered the lobby.

Noah looked up from the book he had been reading, comfortably curled into an armchair that was part of a living room suite placed in the middle of the hotel lobby to invite guests to unite and socialize. There were two dark brown leather couches and a stylish armchair of the same colour seemingly extending one of the sofas. The pieces of furniture were separated by a rectangular glass table with a footrest which offered all sorts of magazines for the guests to browse through. At the far end of the lobby Noah even had a small bar built where he sold coffee and hot chocolate. Right next to it a robust bookshelf clung to the wall, stretching along it and stopping only short of the door. Somehow Noah had managed to turn the lobby of his hotel into a cosy bookshop – only, the books were not for sale but rather for the guests to read at their leisure. So far it had not worked out the way he had pictured it since his guests had either no time for this 'dilly-dallying' or simply used the lobby as a WI-FI hotspot. As much as Noah grieved over this – he had put a lot of love into the assembling of the shelf and consequently bringing it to life by filling it with books – he still felt overjoyed when people were reclining on the sofas.

Noah looked up when he heard steps on the stairs behind him and putting his book aside he half-turned on the couch. Questioning, he raised an eyebrow at Dexter who came striding across the lobby.

Clad in perfectly fitting black clothes and boots Ghastly had tailored for him, and a bowie knife strapped to his thigh Dexter looked like a guy you wouldn't want to mess with. Especially since he looked really pissed-off, a steep vertical crease almost carved into his brow, the tousled blond mop of hair and the three-day stubble adding to the expression.

“M- Mr. Vex?”

Dexter gave him no heed as he stalked towards the door a dangerous air about him which didn't stop Noah from prodding.

“You still going out? Alone?”

The mage stopped and half-turned towards the receptionist standing in the middle of his living room suite, looking like a lost ginger kitten. “I've got … investigative things to do.”

Noah became wide-eyed. “You want to go after them at night? Don't you need tactical gear or something? At least back-up?”

“Believe me, I am fine”, Dexter huffed and his eyes caught a sparkle that Noah could not quite place. Fear maybe?

“You are not even wearing protective clothing! What about a kevlar? A shield? A gun? All you have on you is a knife and a sense of danger”, the receptionist pointed out worriedly.

“This is protective clothing, fabricated from a newly invented, highly secure military … fabric.”

“But-”

“I need to go, time is running out.” With a court nod Dexter turned back to the door and started walking. 'Please don't call after me. Please don't call after me', he thought.

“Where is Mr. Rue?”

Dexter stopped on the threshold not looking back. “They've taken him.” And with that he vanished into the night.

Noah stared, biting his lip in concern. Taken him? He knew now what kind of peculiar sparkle he had noticed in Dexter's eyes. He had seen a man who was about to fight until the death for his husband, he had seen a man who was willing to lay down his life for the person he loved, he had seen a man who sought vengeance.

Saracen had never before been shadow-walked, especially not through walls and down façades but that was exactly the black-eyed Necromancer had done once she had restrained his wrists with magic binding handcuffs. What a waste. Saracen had almost laughed in her face when she had pulled them from her belt. Having secured her sneering prisoner, the Necromancer had grinned down at him and grabbed his shoulder tight.

Being shadow-walked was in a way very similar to teleporting – you felt your atoms jingly and tumble about, hoping for them to be rearranged in the proper order on the other side. However, it was not over in the blink of an eye. When being reduced to a two-dimensional shade crawling over the floor and up walls you felt and saw everything; the room tilt and sway, the carpet and tapestry scraping and rubbing against your skin and the unsettling feeling of being trapped.

The Necromancer was, as expected, a specialist in what she did for she was able to fit into the shadows between the window-frame and the board, taking her prisoner with her. Sliding down the façade of the hotel was easy and over in a heartbeat.

During the whole process Saracen dared not move much less fight since he had no clue whether he would just pop out of the shadow like a Jack-in-the-box upon breaking loose from his captor. The possibility of him ending up with his leg suddenly growing out of his chest was disturbingly high and what if he ended up as loose atoms in the atmosphere, condemned to linger in the breeze? That was when Saracen decided to just flow with it – in quite the literal sense.

When Saracen stumbled out of the shadows with a relieved gasp he found himself in the small parking lot at the back of the building.

“What the fuck was that for?” he snarled at the Necromancer who ignored him and had two shadows hold him in place instead as she gazed into the darkness.

Two pole-lamps protruding from the floor on either side of the back door cast a yellowish-orange glow on the first third of the parking area. Apart from a dark brown car parked just beyond the circles of light the lamps cast The fenced-in space was empty, apart from a car parked just beyond the circles of light. There was no way one would be able to tell the type or even colour in the glum.

A gust of wind tore at their clothes and the next second the Elemental who apparently had jumped from the second-story window landed next to them with a wide smirk. She had cushioned her fall by compressing the air beneath her, turning an ugly impact into a smooth and noiseless landing. Throwing her hair back, the Elemental raised an eyebrow at the car.

“Who drives?”

The Necromancer smirked impishly. “Me. You will have the honour of sharing the backseat with him.”

“Oh hell no, I won't! Just put him in the boot.”

“Fine with me”, the Necromancer shrugged. She manhandled her struggling prisoner in the direction of the car but the mage was not ready to give up just yet.

Saracen first brought his knee up into the woman's abdomen, making her double over and slightly loosen the grip on his upper arm. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he was slightly thrown off balance and had no way of defending himself or shielding his face and upper body. Still, he wrenched his arm free and brought his head in, smacking his brow into the Necromancer's nose as she was about to straighten up again. She howled in pain as blood spurted from her nose, splattering all over her shirt.

Saracen quickly took to running in an incalculable zig-zag-pattern in order to hamper the Elemental's aim. Granted, he must have looked like a weird duckling with his hands tied behind his back but if looking like a baby animal was the cost to save his skin, he would grasp the opportunity.   
All the same, a gust of air knocked Saracen off his feet and sent him sprawling gracelessly. Shadows swirled around him immediately, snaking around his ankles, wrists and neck and picked him up. Saracen was brutally dragged across the floor towards the car and neither struggling nor flailing nor anything proved of use. His shirt slipped up over his navel and he clenched his teeth as the cold gravel scraped over his exposed skin, digging into it and eventually tearing it.

'Dexter', Saracen thought and finally opened his mouth to scream the name of his husband at the top of his lungs. Before even a single sound could come over this lips, however, another shadow slithered around his face, smothering his attempts of attracting attention.

Eyes blazing with fury, Saracen came to a halt before the Necromancer who just for the fun of it, had him suspended in the air by her shadows as she raised a pitying eyebrow at him. The nose-bleeding had – miraculously – stopped already and had it not been for the obvious stains on her lips and chin, one might have been convinced nothing had happened at all.

“Shouldn't have run”, the Necromancer informed him and waved to her companion who was leaning against the car, watching in amusement. “Yedra, open the boot, will you?”

The Elemental pushed away from the car and casually opened the trunk as though she weren't about to put a hostage into the refined space. Mock-bowing and sweeping her hand like an over-eager butler she winked at Saracen. “My liege, your carriage awaits.”

Despite his struggles and mute protests, Saracen ended up stuffed into the boot of a car with a jack poking his broken ribs – seriously, was he not granted one shred of luck? - and very very little space for his legs. The women had chosen a rather wee car for their exfil and in Saracen's opinion they had done it on purpose. The image of them standing in front of a van and shaking their heads in disagreement popped into his head and he growled. Assholes. In addition he was still cuffed and gagged and his curses as he was tossed about were entirely swallowed by the shades. The Necromancer was good, really good; he had to give her that much credit.

'Shit, Dexter, what have we gotten ourselves into again?', he thought as he was carried off to meet an unknown fate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! TORTURE!! BOTH MENTAL AND PHYSICAL!!

Corvo sat behind the desk in an in-plant-office she had claimed for herself, waiting patiently for her hired hit-team to return to the warehouse or 'crib' as it was called almost lovingly by those who had military history. While she had fought for Mevolent on the battlefield from soldier to soldier, taking countless lives, Corvo had always preferred the path of the mind. Not because it was more peaceful – she would kill a person without a hint of hesitation or regret if it would aid her cause – but for the simple reason that it was far more interesting to devour a book or piece of parchment than basking in a sea of slain. Tracing a lead through several volumes, finding the smallest hints and clues between the letters and truly diving into a story or documentation was downright thrilling.

Corvo was in the middle of sorting through some neatly written notes which had captured the essence of a dusty volume the ginger had been consulting. Precise and sharp pencil lines aligned themselves to sketch-like drawings that were sitting in between the wavy letters hugging close to one another. Corvo looked them over again and again, reflecting upon the words, occasionally jotting down the one or other key word on a blank pad of paper. Sooner or later she knew a theory, a plan, a scheme or who knew what else would crystallise before her eye. Gosh, she loved research!  
The shrill ringing tone of the mopile phone which lay on top of a pile of books dragged Corvo's reluctant mind back to the here and now; back into the white-walled office with the obligatory potted plant and the dark water stain in the upper right corner. She sighed as her surroundings came rushing back as though she had just broken the surface of a dark lake and faced reality once again. Slightly disoriented and irritated she picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

“Target acquired and secured”, Yedra informed her courtly. She was one of those who had been born with the Great War raging on her doorstep and consequently been raised a soldier; it came naturally to her to speak in military terms when on a mission. The two women went way back together and at one point Yedra had even been her superior in rank. Corvo liked to think that the Elemental had agreed to her plan because of their shared past and followed her out of loyalty but truth was that after the War Yedra had taken on jobs as hired muscle. In other words, Yedra was a first-class mercenary with little to no loyalties and only accepted jobs if she was paid accordingly for the dirty work she did. There had been a time when she had had morals but the War had corrupted the Elemental, moulded her to its own expectations and forced her to become someone who not even her battle-fanatic parents dared to look in the eye without fear.

“Good. Did you per chance get both?”

“Negative. We got Rue.”

“Bring him in”, Corvo said, not bothering in the least that only one of the Dead Men had been captured. She had come up with several individual outcomes of the mission beforehand, each leading to different actions she would have to take now to ensure the success of her own little mission.

“Roger that.”

Corvo hung up and slid the mopile phone into her jeans pocket before stacking her notes neatly and putting them into a thick dark blue folder which was already brimming with sheets, notes, post-its and smaller paper folders. Leaving it on the desk in between stacks of books and maps, more notes and sheets covered with curvy handwriting, Corvo stretched her aching back and gathered her hair up into a ponytail.

Corvo headed for the small door of the office which had all the qualities of a loft having been built at the far end of the warehouse, opposite the main gate. With its cuboid shape it was perfectly fitted against the wall, supported by several steel girders, leaving enough space underneath to stack-pile crates. What she particularly loved about the workroom was the wall facing the staging area of the plant: the entire upper part of the wall had been replaced by glass windows, allowing Corvo to overlook the entire area.

Stepping out on a narrow catwalk truss leading to a set of grid support stairs, Corvo descended into the open space that had been cleared of everything related to mortal machinery. All that remained were the handful of control pillars which were used to operate the six receiving doors embedded in the left wall. Each shipping dock was also fully equipped with a pit and lifting platform in case one of the delivery trucks needed immediate repairing. Stretching along the right side were iron shelves that used to hold crates and boxes filled with rubbish mortal goods but now were stacked with magical objects from all over the world. It was the result of almost weekly break-ins, raids and thefts she had ordered over the last half year to accumulate as many artefacts as possible. Little signs divided them into different groups, indicating the danger they posed. Corvo's private little Repository so to speak.

Corvo approached a group of four mages standing around a dozen working benches that had been pushed together, impersonating a scientific laboratory next to the iron shelves. They were in the middle of what appeared to be an important matter; it probably concerned the object that was lying in front of them on one of the tables.

“How are we coming along?” Corvo asked and the two women and two man ceased their heated speaking. “Problems?”

One of the scientists, a man in his early fifties going by the boring and overall ridiculous name of Gladius Ferreus (seriously, back then everyone had all these stupid Latin names which sound great in Latin but as soon as you translate them you get names such as Iron Sword or Fist of God, Wooden Axe or Glorious Horse) pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his sharp narrow nose. 

“The good news are, the amulet is actually the real deal … As you are already aware of, one of ours lost his powers due to an accidental touch.”

Yes, she remembered having to kill the man because he wouldn't stop sulking about his lost Necromancy-skills. “Go on”, she said.

“You see, this is not any ordinary amulet. At least I have never seen the like before”, one of the women offered. Miss Elaina Steam. She was a petite woman with blond locks falling down her shoulders and bright grey eyes. Just like her colleagues, she wore a white laboratory coat which went all the way down to her ankles and would billow and waft behind her meaningfully once she started walking.

Corvo held up her hands in a defensive way. “I am aware of that fact. Just thoroughly examine it, experiment on it and let me know of the results you achieve. There is no need to completely understand the ancient rune magic that has been worked into the amulet; all that is necessary to reach our goal is the guarantee that it will function as a door-opener.”

“We shall deliver our first impressions and thoughts along with the secured amulet to your office when we are finished with the initial tests”, Ferreus assured Corvo. “You shall have your victory.”

Corvo was about to answer when she caught the guard at the main gate reach up to his ear where she knew he carried a plug which allowed him to communicate with the rest of his team which was stationed outside. He nodded and went for a control panel next to the electric gate in order to open it.

An orange light began to blink above the gate and slowly the heavy metal wall rolled to the side and a silver car drove into the brightly lit warehouse. If you were an admirer of cars and knew all the types by just stealing a glance you could see that it was in fact a BMW 525i, fabricated in 1994. Or you could just read the numbers glued to the back. Either way, it was old and it was more than likely stolen.

Ciardha steered the BMW to the back of the staging area near shipping dock number six where she killed the engine and hopped out of the car.

Corvo approached and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Did something go wrong? Where is Rue?” she inquired when she watched Yedra exit the now empty vehicle. “You didn't kill him, did you?”

“Not to worry. He proved to be quite unmanageable and struggled and cursed a lot so we put him in the boot”, Ciardha explained calmly and rounded the car. “Where do you want him? The cellar? An unmarked grave?”

“Tie him to a chair, will you? I need to interrogate him first.”

“Alright.” Ciardha opened the boot and easily parred the kick directed at her. She grabbed Saracen by the front of his shirt and hauled him out of the confined space, bringing her face close to his. 

“Nice try.” The Necromancer actually smiled and dragged him to the wooden chair Yedra had planted firmly on the concrete floor. Ciardha gracelessly pushed their prisoner into the chair, temporarily securing him with her shadows as she went to take the cuffs off, only to let them snap shut around Saracen's wrists again once she had yanked his arms painfully behind the backrest of the chair. To his great dismay the Necromancer had even thought of threading the short chain of the handcuffs through one of the bars of the backrest of the chair, successfully completely immopilising his arms. However, she had been kind enough to remove his gag.

With one fast sweeping look Saracen had taken in his surroundings, the shelves with the stolen artefacts, the shipping docks, the guarded gate and the scientist-mages who were busy bending over a table studying something. To his left he could make out another table overflowing with maps, papers and pens; it was surrounded by similar chairs he was currently being cuffed to and looked like the place where plans and schemes came to life. A little further behind – he had to almost turn his head – Saracen spotted an arrangement of sofas and cushioned armchairs as well as a coffee machine.

“Good evening, Mr. Rue.”

Saracen turned his head in the direction of the voice addressing him and just like he had suspected and feared at the same time, it was Mila Corvo. She was older than he remembered her: little creases showed around the corners of her mouth and eyes yet the latter still sparkled with the same fire they had two hundred years ago. While she looked forty, Saracen knew Corvo had been born during the Renaissance in Italy which put her above the five hundred year mark.

“What do you want?” Saracen let the annoyance become clear in his voice and put on his most determined face. He had heard stories about Corvo's methods and he knew he was in a pinch. Perhaps he could stall or bullshit his way out of it?

“Don't you know?” Corvo smirked condescendingly as she stood before him. When she spoke only the tiniest trace of her Italian accent shimmered through.  
Saracen narrowed his eyes and barked a mock laugh. “I am no freaking Sensitive, plus my powers are currently being bound by those cuffs your … associate put on me.” He was in no particular rush to inform the Italian that he was missing his powers.

Yedra waved her hand in his direction. “Your powers are lame. Aren't you supposed to know things? Your performance back at the hotel was pathetic.”

“What do you mean by that?” Corvo asked curiously.

“Rue knew nothing. He didn't anticipate us even once.”

Corvo shrugged. “Perhaps his powers have lost some of their impressiveness. But speaking of anticipating. Ciardha, please inform Mr. Drawn to be extra careful and double the perimeter guards. Stay outside with them.”

“Expecting company?” The Necromancer asked but started to move towards the main gate all the same.

“Dexter Vex should be joining us soon. By abducting one you get the other for free. No risks and certainly no work from our side. All we have to do is wait patiently for him to show up.”

“He is too smart for you, Mila, he will not fall for this pathetic trap.”

“We are definitely not on a first-name basis, Saracen.”

“Then why do you call me by my first name?” Saracen asked innocently.

“I am the boss, I had you abducted, you are at my mercy, thus I can call you whatever I want.”

“True. But I have nothing to lose and therefore I don't care what happens if I call you by your first name.”

“So we are on a first-name basis then?”

Saracen tried a shrug which quickly turned awkward when the cuffs cut into his flesh. “It pisses off the both of us and we are enemies. It is only natural for adversaries to piss each other off,” Saracen flashed her a winning smile. “So, what are you planning, then?”

“Shouldn't you know?” Corvo asked in surprise.

“I told you I am not a Sensitive!”

The ginger's brow furrowed in irritation. “That is not what I meant. Shouldn't you be knowing what I am scheming when you are here to foil my plans? It's what you Sanctuary officials do.”

Slowly it dawned on Saracen, that Corvo seemed to assume him and Dexter were here on official Sanctuary business with their mission being to arrest her. Thoughts raced and swirled in his mind as the mage tried to decide which strategical path to pursue in this situation. While he could tell the truth and claim it had been an unlucky coincidence the Dead Men were in town, there was also the possibility to play along to and perhaps find out more about Corvo's plans. Neither the outcome of the first nor the second schenario seemed particularly appealing to Saracen, however. Corvo would never believe that it had only been a chance meeting where different events had lead to one catastrophic clash of two sides. The Italian would torture him to find out the 'real' truth and he was not overly fancying that outlook. 

Of course he could stall her by simply admitting he was here to do the Sanctuary's dirty work but then she would torture him to squeeze every little non-existent information about their mission out of him … 

“I confess. I am acting by order of Elder Ghastly Bespoke of the Irish Sanctuary to arrest Italian citizen and criminal Mila Corvo.”

“You have no authority over me. Should the Irish Sanctuary make a move on an Italian citizen, our Sanctuary would declare war on yours.”

Saracen could feel the first pearls of perspire forming on his brows. Corvo was making him nervous even though she had not yet given him a reason to, the capture aside. “You are a wanted criminal, Mila. Not even your own corrupted Government would bat an eye if we took you into custody and eventually turn you over to the Italian Sanctuary.”

Corvo laughed and pulled a chair towards her, making herself comfortable in front of him while always maintaining a security distance as though she knew the risk Saracen still posed. “Perhaps it is so and perhaps it is not. Diplomacy is, however, not the most gripping topic to discuss with a captive. I am more excited to hear about what you know about me and my crusade.”

“Well … for starters, we don't consider it a crusade but let's not get lost in petty details. Initially we were sent to investigate those thefts which had been troubling the Sanctuary for quite a while now.” Saracen had no idea as to what that religious fanatic might have been planning in her head but since he had opted for the bullshit-train he had to prove he was worthy of riding it. “Especially a certain amulet.”

“Go on.”

Saracen gave her an impertinent grin. “The rest is classified.”

“Is it now? I believe a little persuasion is in demand.” Corvo stood and approached the mage and although Saracen forced his exterior to show complete and utter calmness, his insides turned icy cold at the prospect of what was to come. The first drop of sweat ran down his temple and came to a shaky rest on his cheekbone.

Corvo reached down and traced her index finger over Saracen's upper arm, drawing a simple pattern.

“What are you-” Saracen flinched away and stared at his arm in shock where just beyond the brim of his t-shirt's sleeve a black rune had appeared on his skin. Before he could overcome his surprise, Corvo had already drawn two more runes, one beneath the other, creating a vertical word before retreating again.

“What did you do to me?” Saracen demanded, a picture of China Sorrows popping in his mind and what devastating consequences her symbol-magic could provoke. The runes looked like bluish black ink and began to blur at the edges; they seemed to swim on the surface of his skin for several heartbeats before melting into it.

“Tell me, Saracen, what do you know about the amulet?” Corvo's tone of voice had changed and suddenly her entire body language radiated a frigid steel-cold authority.

“Nothing”, he spat defiantly and it was (almost) the truth. The bloody thing was keen on absorbing everything magical in its vicinity and that was the extend of his knowledge.

“I ask again, what do you know about the amulet?”

Saracen opened his mouth to utter the same answer in combination with some profanities but nothing ever came over his lips when he felt a dull ache appear in his chest. It felt like he had his already broken ribs bashed again with an iron baseball bat. The mage clenched his teeth as the ache spread to his abdomen and limbs, overly conscious of Corvo observing him with a faint smile tugging at the right corner of her mouth.

“What did ... you do to me?” Saracen ground out and an involuntary gasp escaped him as the ache became a flaring pain setting his skin on fire and burning his insides.

Yedra who was half sitting, half leaning on the table slightly behind their prisoner raised an impressed eyebrow at Saracen. There had been countless occasions she had seen Corvo abuse her power to extract information but seldom had she seen a person who would refuse to writhe and shout after thirty seconds of exposure to the black ink. In fact, there had been only one other mage…

“I poisoned you”, Corvo explained casually. “It is not fatal, I can assure you but as the poison curses through your bloodstream it will cause you excruciating pain which eventually will drive you mad. At any time I could give you an antidote to end your ordeal but I am only willing to do that once you either pass out from the pain or tell me what I need to know.” She looked at him smugly. 

“It really is just up to you, Saracen.”

“Fuck ... you”, Saracen managed to hiss between laboured breaths. Sweat was pouring down his face and his fingers constantly clenched and unclenched as he fought the pain with every fibre of his being. Was he only imagining it or had it actually increased? Fiery hot streams of ink coursed through his veins and Saracen felt like he was being burned from the inside out. His wounded leg throbbed and the broken bones of his ribs ground against one another every time he sucked in a lungful of air.

“What do you know about the amulet?”

“Nothing!”

“Tell me.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Saracen was almost shouting now. He was fighting a lost battle; the poison would more than likely elevate the pain until he lost consciousness and once Corvo had woken him again, she would repeat the process. For as long as necessary.

 

Yedra pushed away from the table and moved into Saracen's field of vision. “Still no scream … Impressive.”

“Give it some time, he will break eventually”, Corvo said confidently and leaned back in her chair, observing Saracen as though she were studying an experiment of hers, ready to jot down the reactions and final results. All that was missing from the picture were a terminal board and a pen. Corvo absolutely loved these sort of methods: it was effective, required patience and she definitely did not have to use physical strength.

“In a chatty mood, Saracen?” Corvo taunted with one arm over the backrest of the chair.

Saracen forced his head up, jaw set, the pain evident in not only his face but also the posture of his body seeking to double up had it not been for the cuffs mercilessly keeping the mage in an upright position. “No”, he snarled through gritted teeth.

A wave of pain smashed into him, stronger and more persistent than ever and before he could stop it, an anguished scream ripped from his throat and resounded in the vast space of the warehouse.  
The mages experimenting on the amulet looked up to determine the source of the sudden noise but soon returned to their work. Apparently it was not uncommon in their field of work to witness the torturing of enemy agents.

“What do you know, Saracen?”

It took Saracen several attempts to finally answer his captor in a shaky voice. “N-nothing … I … swear.”

Corvo sighed. “You are quite the stubborn fellow, aren't you?”  
Saracen did not react to the tease nor did he answer; he was busy screaming in agony which had finally torn down his defences and was affecting him in all its madness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! MORE TORTURE!!

The black '67 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 sped through the abandoned streets of the small town, the orange lights of the street lamps racing in blurred specks over the hood and roof of the car.

Dexter Vex closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deliberately and let the indifferent blackness of the night rush by him as he sought to concentrate on the task before him. He was about to infiltrate a high-security facility undetected with nothing more than his admittedly awesome magical powers and a knife, locate and rescue his husband and take out Corvo. Easy as pie.

To his left the floodlit warehouse appeared, the main building and smaller huts painted in a wild camouflage pattern of stark light and deep shadows. Dexter continued driving until he reached the border of the forest two hundred meters further where he switched off the headlight. He slowed down to almost a crawl. Slowly, the Mustang rolled onto the pebbly shoulder and Dexter steered it behind some bushes where it was out of sight.

“Alright then. Here we go. You'd better still be alive, Saracen”, Dexter mumbled when he killed the engine and went to check on his meagre equipment: his knife was securely strapped to his thigh and as far as his inspection showed, his combat suit sported no rips nor holes. He was good to go.

Five minutes later, Dexter found himself crawling noiselessly through clumps of bushes and general shrubbery, moving parallel to the strong wire-fence where he hoped to find the perfect spot to gain entry. As strong as his desire to speed things up burned inside him, the mage knew he had to completely rely on his calmness and cold proficiency if he hoped to get Saracen out of there alive.

Dexter had approached the compound from a different angle this time – now he was facing the exact backside of the warehouse – where he hoped the number of guards would not be that ridiculously high. Why were main entrances always swarming with guards? Was it not far more reasonable to ensure nobody would sneak in through the back door? Who would ever be stupid enough charge the front gate?

He could make out the shapes of two armed men at the corner of the massive building, apparently talking to one another. Just two; the rest of the army was probably busy staring at the main entrance.

“Waiting it is”, Dexter grumbled and flattened himself against the ground. Mushy colourful leaves cushioned the otherwise hard earth. Autumn somehow made it more difficult to find a proper cover behind or under bushes but the harsh light actually aided Dexter in this situation. “A lot of light means a lot of shades.”

Always keeping an eye on the pair of guards, Dexter let his gaze wander. The grey slab of concrete rose almost thirty meters towards the sky and the only windows which might have provided entrance stood twenty-seven meters from the ground. No way he could have scaled the building undetected. Doors and shipping docks? Probably all firmly shut and doubly guarded without doubt.

Dexter sighed in frustration as under his scrutinizing eyes nothing came even close to resemble a way into the facility. Yet, he kept observing. He had already ruled out the smaller huts since it was highly unlikely Saracen was being held captive there. They probably served as accommodations and restrooms for Corvo's people and judging by the amount of guards he and Saracen had seen earlier, the space was needed. However, none of this brought Dexter any closer to the solution. 

Wait, what was that? 

Immediately attached to the back of the building was a smaller rectangular structure he had almost missed. Due to the play of light and deep shadows, an optical illusion was generated of the slab of concrete not being there at all. Interesting.

“More restrooms I gather. Most likely for the former workers of the warehouse. Now, that is something I can work with”, Dexter mused, intently studying the square windows approximately two meters above ground level. Would he fit through there?

Dexter's attention was drawn to the guards who had started a sweeping search at the back of the warehouse, opening trash containers, strategically positioned away from the fence and pointing their rifles in every dark corner to check for intruders. Their movements were sharp and clear and Vex had no difficulty recognizing them as soldiers, completely geared to each other. He waited patiently until the pair had returned to their original position at the corner of the building, watching them reach up to their sternums, making sure their equipment was functioning before calling in a report.

Dexter checked his watch. 1.25 a.m.

Time trickled by, agonising second after agonising second. Ten minutes passed painstakingly slow, but eventually Dexter was rewarded when the guards started their next patrol while he readied himself. He would act as soon as the patrol was heading back to their designated corner. In what way he would act, was still beyond him; Dexter had always considered himself a genius of impromptu actions.

Vex was actually weighing the risk of putting the two soldiers out of the equation. It was swings and roundabouts, really. If he did manage to take the guards out, he would be proud owner of at least two rifles which would definitely improve his current situation. Well, to be honest, if they had but one Necromancer or Elemental a rifle would not do him any good. An Elemental had the annoying tendency to simply solidify the air and stop the bullets mid-air. Necromancers didn't even bother looking up from their cup of tea while conjuring a wall of shadows to swallow the projectiles. Added to the ever growing list of cons was that he had a maximum of ten minutes to find Saracen before the soldiers would be missed and the alarm raised.

“Damn, I hate decisions where the odds are against me, no matter what.”

Dexter raised to his elbows and tip-toes and started to carefully move even closer towards the fence until he could press his palms against it. Always keeping an eye on the men who still had their backs to him as they were moving towards the other side of the building, Dexter let purplish energy dance on his skin, hoping it would go undetected. Just like earlier that evening when he had molten a hole into the fence big enough for him and Saracen to squeeze through, the wire didn't stand a chance against Dexter's power.

The mage wriggled through the breach and immediately sought cover behind one of the trash containers. Balancing on the balls of his feet, Dexter pressed himself against the plastic surface, drawing his knife. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the approaching footsteps of the guards.

“This is Golf Team. All clear”, a deep voice said.

Golf Team? Couldn't they have skipped that letter? A grin appeared on the mage's face as he pictured the soldiers in crisp golf attire, handling clubs, swapping boring golf stories.

Dexter became serious soon enough when the approaching footsteps came ever closer. The smirk was replaced by a tense expression. The mage waited until the men were one step from rounding the container. Every muscle, every fibre of his body was strung to breaking point.

Three … two … one …

Dexter shot up and out of hiding. His palm, filled with crackling energy, found its way to one of the guards' hips, immediately frying his communications system. At the same time he plunged his blade into the other man's throat but taking care to leave the microphone intact. Pushing him to the ground, Dexter grabbed the barrel of the rifle the first guard was about to fire. He forced it aside, stepped in and brought his knee to the man's groin before finishing him off with a blast of energy. While the guard whose throat he had slit was beyond help, the other one was only unconscious and would be waking within the next half hour.

Dexter bent to take a rifle, as well as his knife and searched their protective vests for spare magazines. Stuffing two thirty-round magazines into his thigh pockets, he quickly relieved the dead guard of his tactical radio. The mage pushed the earpiece into his ear, slid the bloody throat mic around his neck and provisionally strapped the receiver to his thigh. Opening his jacket, Dexter attached the talk-button to his sternum with a special adhesive strip he had found on the dead guard and let the wire trail down his chest and abdomen. A few more adhesive strips later, he made sure everything was properly plugged in and that the cables were not in any way interfering with his movements.

Dexter wiped away the sweat that had begun to form on his brow. This mission had turned into a huge mess already and he had been inside the compound for less than two minutes. 

Guilt rushed through him when he moved around the dead man's body. He had not even given him a chance to defend himself. Tearing his eyes away from the surprised look on the guard's face, Dexter gritted his teeth. He tried telling himself that these men were loyal to a religious lunatic who sought to bring pain and terror over the world. He tried telling himself that it had been unavoidable. He tried telling himself that death came with the job description of soldiers and mercenaries. Deep down, however, Dexter knew that the nameless man lying in a spreading puddle of his own blood would haunt his dreams. Killing was never justified, no matter the side one fought on.

Vex took one of the rifles in hand and pushed the magazine release button. That was the extend of his knowledge when it came to guns: how to change a magazine and switch the safety on and off. Was that even the right expression? Switching the safety on? A quick look at the banana-shaped magazine assured him that all thirty bullets were accounted for. Pulling the strap of the firearm over his head, he started jogging towards the flat building sitting in the warehouse's large shadow.

Gaining access to the restrooms by squeezing through one of the square windows had been easy. No alarm had started blaring when Dexter had smashed the glass and heaved himself inside. Things were looking promising-

The radio in Dexter's ear cracked. “Golf Team, this is Base. We heard a noise. Report.”  
Dexter pressed the talk button on his chest. “Base, this is Golf Team. Stand by, we will check it out.”

An agonising second passed and the mage's heart pounded hard against his ribs. Would they buy it? Although he had deepened his voice to match that of the guard, there was no guarantee the person on the other end would not catch his bluff.

“Roger that. Need back-up?”

“Negative.”

A few moments dragged by. “Base, come in. This is Golf Team.” Dexter had not bothered producing background noises such as the rustling of clothes or the sound of soft steps on tar to create the illusion of him searching for the source of the unknown sound. Throat microphones were designed to pick up the vibrations of the soldier's vocal cords, which rendered it deaf to any distracting sounds from outside.

“This is base.”

“A cat scaled the fence and was looking for food in the trash.”

“Any sign of target?”

“Not as yet. Next report in ten as usual.”

“Copy that. Keep your eyes open. Target will make a move soon.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow and could not help the malicious grin from tugging at his lips. “Aye, Sir. Golf Team out.”

'Time for the suspect to make an appearance.'

Dexter sneaked out of the bathroom and down a short corridor, rifle in position. His cheek was pressed against the butt of the weapon and his index caressed the trigger guard almost gently. When a steel door came in sight to his right, he immediately flattened himself against the tiled wall and took his left hand off the rifle and grasped the handle. Slowly and carefully, the mage pulled the door open enough for him to peek out into the hall. To both his dismay and joy, all he was able to see were wooden boxes. Bringing the rifle to his face again, he opened the door further until he could stick first the barrel of his weapon out, followed by his head. Just a wall of boxes. It had to do.

“… no secrets from me”, the voice of a woman could be heard.

“I don't!”

Saracen.

Dexter's heart jumped at the sound of his husband's voice, however broken and desperate it seemed.  
Vex moved silently until he had his back to the crates and was inching towards where he would be able to get a better look. After every meter he covered he swivelled on his heels to avoid any nasty surprise fate had in stock for him. It tended to chuck everything it got at him.

“Tell me what you know and the pain will stop”, Corvo cooed with a voice as soft and soothing as a nurse's.

Dexter pulled the gun flush to his chest with his right hand and carefully turned his head until he could only just peek around the last wooden crate. He was painfully aware of his hair and half of his head being terribly exposed, yet it was a risk the mage was willing to take. For Saracen.

And there he was.

Dexter's insides went cold when he spotted Saracen shackled to a chair about twenty feet away with his back to him. The mage was trembling visibly and his bloody fingernails dug into his palms as he continuously shook his head.

“I was sent here … argh … to arrest you. The amulet. I … if I got a chance I was supposed to … argh … take it as well”, Saracen ground out, obviously in pain. 

Dexter watched in horror as Saracen tried to curl himself into a ball but was hindered in his movements by the handcuffs securing him to the chair. Instead, he brought his legs up and bent his upper body as much as he could, until his forehead almost touched his knees. An anguished cry ripped from Saracen's throat and he yanked at the cuffs. Vex' attention shifted to the irons and seething rage swelled up inside him when he realized that the blood on Saracen's hands and fingers was his own. He had struggled so frantically against the cuffs, he had chafed the skin to breaking point and beyond. 

Mila Corvo was towering over Saracen, arms crossed, watching the mage expectantly, very much like a teacher who had not received the full answer to a question. Right next to her, lounging in a second wooden chair, was a dark-skinned woman with a slightly bored expression on her face. There were no other people Vex could see from his angle behind the crates.

Stepping back, Dexter turned slightly and raised his weapon. He never got to the part where he stormed out of hiding. Slim spidery fingers suddenly slid over his mouth, yanking him back while an arm moved around his neck, pressing a cold blade to his throat. Due to the fact that his assailant was smaller than him, Vex was bent backwards to meet the attacker's height. In this position he was almost powerless and certainly had no leverage whatsoever.

“Hush, I am with you.” A barely audible whisper at his ear. A woman's voice.

Dexter, still cursing his own emotions for completely shutting down his mind, nodded carefully. When he felt more pressure put on his mouth and shoulder he moved with the mysterious woman until he was kneeling. Thoughts rushed through his mind. Where had she come from this quickly? Who was she anyway? Was she really on his side? If so he could not afford to make a fuss and have them both caught. But what if she was lying? Playing some perverted game before handing his beaten arse over to Corvo?

“I need you to listen carefully. Don't speak. Don't move”, the woman whispered against his ear. Dexter had to strain to make out the words. “I will help you get your friend back. You have to trust me on this.”

Vex frowned. What could she possibly gain from such an offer? He assumed she did not act on the pure will to help people about to be tortured to death by a maniac. Still, he nodded.

“I am very sorry but we have to wait until he looses consciousness.”

Dexter blinked as the realization hit and drove all air out of his lungs as though it had been a physical blow. That crazy lady wanted him to listen to Saracen, his beloved, scream in agony until the pain would became too strong to bear. Over his dead body! Saracen was a trained, battle-hardened mage who made a habit of spitting captors in the face, laughing off the pain. Saracen could last for hours. Suffering. No! The mage squirmed in her grasp but the woman simply put more pressure on the blade, grazing Dexter's soft skin.

“Hear me out. He has been poisoned. Corvo alone can give him an antidote and she will only do it once he either tells her what he knows or he passes out. Trust me on this. I know.” Her voice had turned bitter.

Dexter ceased his silent struggle, too shocked to be concerned with escaping. There was no telling which was worse. That he would be forced to hear Saracen scream and cry out desperately until his body could take no more and granted him the mercies of darkness. Or perhaps that the woman behind him obviously had been prisoner to Corvo before.

 

It had been supposed to be an easy mission: track down the thieves of the amulet, beat them up, get Saracen's magic back to a working level and ride off into the sunset. Instead, they had slithered straight into this mess. Religious fanatics, magical objects, homophobes, ex-prisoners of said religious fanatics ... Dexter could already feel the oncoming headache.


	6. Chapter 6

Saracen was screaming. His body contorted in pain and salty tears were mingling with the droplets of sweat streaming down his face.

Corvo knew it would not be long now until her captive talked. Or went mad. Such overwhelming pain was not meant for any human being to ever be exposed to and still she had been forced to use her strongest poisons on Saracen. He was tough and damn stubborn, she had to give him that. The other possibility was, that he had already spoken the truth and simply waited for death to claim him, yet Corvo did not quite believe that. There was still something amiss, something in Saracen's story did not add up. She would know soon, though; the mage was teetering on the brink.

“Are you sure you have no further information about the amulet?” Corvo asked.

“YES!”

“Even if I still don't trust your word on that, you will take your place in this, Saracen. How do you feel about having been chosen to become my key? The key that will open the door for me to walk the paths of knowledge?”

The mage didn't answer. He had his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, his body tense and his mind refusing to ponder the cryptic message Corvo had delivered with madly shining eyes. Damn this, he had arrived a day ago and had already become the chosen one. Flattering as it may be, there was just no luck in this world for him. 

However, had Corvo known she was not the only one listening to Saracen scream and plead, perhaps she would not have felt so self-assured.

Dexter trembled. Each cry of pain, each sob hit him deeply, cutting wounds he knew would never heal. He was sitting idly by, while the love of his life was begging for the pain to finally stop. Each tear finding its way down his cheek fuelled his anger; it was like oil on fire, catastrophic once the oil began to spill.

The mysterious woman still had her hand clamped over his mouth and he could still feel the cold steel at his throat. Even if he had decided she was most likely telling the truth, she obviously did not take any chances. He might attack her after all. Hence, the blade.

“I TELL YOU! PLEASE! I … PLEASE! I TELL YOU EVERYTHING!!” Saracen screamed at the top of his lungs. His cries spiralled ever up and up, reaching new levels entirely. “STOP IT, PLEASE! I WILL TELL YOU!”

Dexter sobbed involuntarily, the sound muffled by the slim fingers covering his mouth. Saracen had broken. It had happened before that one of the Dead Men had succumbed to brutal and inhumane interrogation techniques. Hell, it happened to the best and strongest. They were human after all and everyone had a breaking point. People often assumed the suicide squad consisted of invincible heroes who would never back down, never give up and most importantly never break. That was ridiculous. The Dead Men sported more scars on both body and soul than any human should have endured. Maybe none of them showed it openly or they played it down with jokes but each of them had come out of the War a different person; shattered. They were not invincible; rather did they have the heart in the right place. With the right leverage every member of the Dead Men turned into songbirds in the blink of an eye. For Saracen to throw in the towel this quickly, the pain he had experienced must have been extraordinary.

The screaming stopped and was replaced by a wrangled moan and heavy panting.

“So?” Corvo demanded.

The prisoner did not answer as he still tried to catch his breath, sucking in lungfuls of air, paying the protests of his broken ribs no heed. Compared to what he had just lived through, this pain was but a meagre itch; nothing more than an annoyance at best.

“Saracen”, the woman threatened in a low growl.

“I will tell you”, Saracen sobbed. “Just … Let me … I need air. I will tell you.”

The Italian waited exactly twenty seconds before pressing again. “What do you know?”

Saracen panted. “I was sent here with a special task”, he started with a quivering voice.

“What was it?”

The prisoner suddenly snickered and when he spoke again, his voice, while still sounding weak had lost every teary quality. “I … uh … darn, I forgot.”

Yedra leaped up from her chair and covered the distance between them in two big steps. “You fucking cabrón! I will knock that stupid grin right off your face!” Before anyone could reason with her, the Elemental had drawn her arm back and landed a terrific right hook. She had every intention of knocking Rue's lights out.

Saracen's head was swimming and a peculiar ringing noise maltreated his ears. There were funny colours dancing before his eyes. Out of the corner of his dimming eyes he could see the scientists walking briskly towards the back of the warehouse, probably heading towards the in-plant office. He tried to process this information but his brain was busy admiring the colourful swirls dancing before his inner eye. Admittedly, they were pretty. Then everything went black.

In his hideout, Dexter had gone wide-eyed. 'That clever son of a gun', he thought. Faking a breakdown to make Corvo give him the antidote was something everyone could and most likely would have considered a smashing plan. But to think part two of the grand scheme would consist of provoking his captors into knocking him unconscious themselves had 'Dead Man' stamped all over it. Dexter could perfectly picture the shit-eating grin Saracen loved to wear when in a tight spot and a smile loosened up his lips he had pressed to a thin line.

The spider-fingered woman brought her mouth to Dexter's ear again. “This is our chance. I'll distract them, buy you some time to get to your friend. Here, take this key. It will fit the shackles.” 

The hand disappeared and only seconds later a small metallic object was pressed into his palm. When Dexter finally turned around to meet the stranger's eye, she was gone. Questions swirled in his mind he forced himself to swallow and instead concentrate on the task at hand. Vex wiped his eyes using the sleeve of his shirt and got to his feet, rifle pressing against his cheek. Breathing steadily, the mage waited patiently for his new partner in crime to make an appearance. If she made an appearance at all and did not sell him out this very minute. 

'Calm down, Dexter. Think of the headache. Think of the headache.'

“It seems Mr. Rue is even more cunning than anticipated”, Corvo said dryly. “You played right into his hands, Yedra. Wake him up, let us begin another round.”

“Sorry for snapping, boss” the Elemental said, sounding bashful. “It's just something about his demeanour that makes me want to punch him in the face all the time.” Yedra waved her hands in the air, manipulating the humidity in order to splash water into Saracen's face repeatedly.

Groaning, Saracen cracked an eye open and lifted his head with some effort. Showing off a confident smile that bordered on impertinence, the mage straightened and jutted his chin forward defiantly.

Corvo huffed unimpressed and approached Saracen who eyed her warily. It was no secret what would happen next and Saracen steeled himself against the inevitable. When Corvo reached down to draw yet another combination of runes onto his skin, she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly.

“Please don't”, a female voice said. The words had come neither as a plea nor as an order but Corvo froze all the same. Her eyes darted to the left where a short woman had stepped out from behind the wall of crates that had been stack-piled beneath the built-in office.

“Look who we've got here. I didn't think you would ever dare to show yourself again.” Corvo glanced about the staging area to determine whether the woman had come alone. Nobody jumped them. Although she should not have posed a real threat, it was clear to everyone that Corvo's body had tensed up and her mind was on high alert.

Saracen and Yedra both gaped at the stranger in both surprise and bewilderment. Where had she popped up from? Why had nobody seen her slip in? The guards had to have seen her. Besides, she had quite the nerve to simply walk up to them, initiating a conversation.

On closer inspection it became clear they had a lone teenager in front of them, a girl of not more than fifteen years and still Corvo behaved as though she were facing a Dead Man. Interesting.

Saracen knew never to underestimate mages and especially those who looked too young to already know how to handle themselves in battle. This girl however, despite her young age, did have a dangerous air about her which was underlined by her imposing looks. Clad in a black leather jacket sporting silver spikes on the shoulders and buckles down the arms, the girl had taken a broad stance, a pistol aimed at Corvo. Long wavy snow-white hair fell down her right shoulder, part of it tied back in a messy plait, keeping her face clear of it while the left side of her head was half-shaven. Falling in with the asymmetry, one leg of her trousers was a patchwork of red and black while the other one stuck to black alone. There were silver buckles and straps all over her clothing, even on the worn-out military ankle boots.

Saracen was not surprised in the least to see sheaths containing throwing knives being strapped to both her thighs. When his gaze wandered to her face again, only now did he spot the numerous piercings glinting in the stark overhead light: in her eyebrows, nasal wings, lips, ears and even temples.

“Release him. I will take him with me”, the girl said and again the demand was delivered with an unnerving calmness. The words simply tumbled out of her mouth as though she had not a care in the world. Her voice was ringing in a pleasant accent Saracen immediately recognized as Italian. Narrowing his eyes, the mage inhaled deeply. Suddenly everyone was interested in him which was never a good omen. Experience had beaten that into him over the years. “I am good, thanks”, he cut in, smiling. “No need to get physical because of me.”

Both women ignored him. Awesome. Not only was he the desired prize to be taken home by the winner of the inevitable showdown, he was also considered simply an object to be claimed in order to piss the other one off. Now, had one of them been Dexter, he would not even have struggled at the prospect of being dragged to some shady flat by him where nobody would hear him scream.

“Perché non usiamo la lingua della nostra patria?”¹ Corvo asked in Italian and while Saracen did not understand a word, he picked up on the friendly tone appealing to the girl, reasoning with her.

Black lips curled and the girl laughed. “Tu non hai piú il diritto di chiamarla la 'nostra' patria. Hai tradito il tuo popolo quando ti sei decisa di abbracciare quelli pazzi fanatici religiosi!”²

“Non sono pazzi e non ero l'unica di allontanarmi dalle vostre idee imperfette. Loro mi hanno mostrato un mondo magnifico. Un mondo di conoscenza illimitata e di pace.”³

“No, non sarebbe pace”, the girl said, shaking her head sadly. “Sarebbe un mondo distrutto e divorato di fiamme.”4

“Allora non hai cambiato idea … Peccato. Saresti stata veramente prestigiosa per noi, Lagrima.”5

The girl called Lagrima motioned to Saracen who was still following the conversation with narrowed eyes. “Release him.”

“Altrimenti?”6

“I swear to fucking God, release him so I can get on with this damn arrest of yours.”

“Tired of your own language?” Corvo teased.

“Some things sound better in other languages.”

Corvo nodded, obviously considering this and turned towards her prisoner who shook his head frantically.

“No, don't let her touch me!” Saracen had no clue where this girl had come from or what she wanted from him. All he was entirely positive about, was that he certainly did not want to be touched by Corvo again. Ever. With everything else he could live, the throbbing pain in his still bleeding leg, the stinging lashing through his ribcage whenever he breathed either in or out. No physical pain could compare to the ordeal Corvo had put him through during the last hour.

“Hey, Mila, non ti muovere.7 You there! Release him”, Lagrima pointed her index finger at Yedra who glanced at Corvo for instructions. The Italian nodded and at the same time as Yedra bent to remove Saracen's cuffs, all hell broke loose.

Shipping dock number six was nearly obliterated by the shadow smacking into the thin metal paddle from outside. Through the hole stepped Ciardha, closely followed by a small regiment of armed soldiers, rifles in position. With one quick glance the black-eyed Necromancer took in the scene unfolding before her.

“There she is! Take her out!” she bellowed and the soldiers obeyed.

“I want her alive!” Corvo shouted over the ruckus, picking herself up from the floor where she had ended up as a consequence of the commotion. “I need her alive!”

Lagrima had not wasted any time. As soon as Ciardha had made her stunning entrance, she had started sprinting towards the iron racks in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any magical or non-magical attack. When she was one meter from the metal structure she leaped and landed on the lowest shelf, nimbly climbing towards the ceiling.

“Don't follow-” Corvo tried to warn the soldiers but it was too late. Half of the unit had already started climbing after the fleeing girl who had reached the top shelf which apart from a thick layer of dust was empty and was now running across it. Lagrima dropped to the metal mid-run like a baseball player seeking to touch home plate, slithering towards the end of the shelf. As soon as her outstretched left hand made contact with the iron, bluish-white jagged tendrils of electricity sprang from her palm and fingertips. 

Corvo watched five men flying off the iron shelving and sprawling on the ground. None of them got to their feet again and yet she believed them to be only unconscious. Lagrima had a soft heart. That had always been her weakness. It had been naïve to assume or even hope Lagrima would join her ranks; she was a notorious good person. Corvo glanced at Saracen who was still guarded by Yedra. “Lock him in the cellar. Guard him.” Leaving Yedra to it, the Italian stalked after the girl who was currently trying to avoid being completely surrounded by guards while warding off Ciardha's shadows.

“Yes, boss.” Yedra produced a small key and rounded Saracen's chair. Crouching down, the Elemental almost gently took one of his wrists, earning a hiss from the prisoner as the metal painfully rubbed over his chafed skin.

A soft breeze, almost too soft to be picked up tickled Yedra's cheek and she spun to her feet, drawing a knife and holding it to Saracen's throat.

“Step away from him!” Dexter had his rifle trained on the Elemental's chest, a steep crease furrowing his brow. He was unable to see Saracen's face but the way he held himself showed Vex that this woman was not to be underestimated.

“If I do you will shoot me”, Yedra pointed out. “While I have no clue as to who you are, that I know for sure.”

Dexter almost growled. “I don't give a fuck about you. All I care about is him.”

“Then you must be Dexter Vex. The white knight in the shining armour astride a mighty horse. I am afraid I have orders to make sure Mr. Rue stays with us a little longer.”

“And that I cannot allow to happen. Step away from him!”

“This is quite the tricky situation”, Yedra smiled. You shoot me, my hand will slip and he dies. You don't shoot me, I might still kill him.”

For a moment nobody moved or said a word. All they could hear was the fighting noises carried over to them.

“Dexter, she-”

“Hush, darling. Don't spoil the fun”, Yedra drawled condescendingly, twisting the knife, forcing the mage to crane his head even further to the side.

Dexter could feel perspire forming on his brow, white hot anger surging through him when he saw the malicious grin on the woman's face. He had no clue what to do next. Lower his gun? Shoot her?  
The decision was ripped from his responsibility when Saracen suddenly moved, toppling the chair backwards and to the side, consequently slipping out of Yedra's reach. Dexter didn't wait for Saracen to hit the concrete. When he pulled the trigger the rifle began spitting bullets at the Elemental who had already drawn up a shield in front of her. The rounds slowed to a stop upon hitting the solidified air. 

Saracen cried out when his shoulder was jostled by the impact and the shackles cut into his lacerations. Projectiles rained down on him when Yedra dropped her air shield and flames flared up in both her palms.

Vex ducked and rolled, avoiding the fireballs as best as he could while still shooting at the Elemental. The sound of gunfire was loud in his ears and he dove behind one of the couches which almost instantly took to burning. None of the bullets had hit home but the woman had not moved an inch.

'Rifle is fucking useless. Gonna do this old-school', Dexter thought angrily and tossed the weapon aside. It skidded across the floor, dropping into the car pit of the nearest shipping dock. Too late to change his mind. Drawing in a deep breath, Vex leaped up and over the sofa, crackling energy coiling up to his elbows. Before he could think this over again, he had started a mad dash across the open ground towards Yedra. He drew his right arm back and released a handful of purplish energy at her. In response, she pushed against the air hard. Vex dropped and felt the rush of air pass over him. In one fluid motion he drew his knife and got to his feet again, slashing upwards as he did so. His other palm flared with energy and he aimed for her head. The Elemental sprang back with a concentrated expression edged into her features and waved her hands.

Vex barely avoided the continuous stream of fire erupting from her left palm, blindly stumbling right into a wall of air she had simultaneously conjured with her right. He snarled but could not help being impressed. She was able to control two elements at once and still hold true to her aim?

Yedra brought her knee up and drove it into Dexter's abdomen, making him double over and gasp from the pain. She grabbed the front of his jacket and a handful of his hair, pulling him in an upright position, bringing their faces close. “You won't save him like this”, she whispered and to Dexter's bewilderment it was neither sneered nor meant to tease. The energy in his palms diminished when he met her gaze for a heartbeat and was genuinely confused by the absence of hatred in her dark eyes. Was … was she helping them? Was there not anyone with clear loyalties in this mess? And there it was; the headache that had threatened to wreak havoc in his head this entire time. Dexter hated counterspies; you never knew when they stabbed you in the fucking back. The iron grip on his hair loosened ever so slightly and Dexter smacked his forehead into her face without hesitation.

Yedra stumbled back, clutching at her broken nose and snapping her fingers but Dexter was on her before she could feed the flame. He kicked her hand to the side and delivered a vicious punch to her left temple. The Elemental crumpled to the floor and knew nothing more.

“Saracen!” Dexter spun on his heels to finally release Rue from his predicament and stopped short. The cuffs were lying next to the still toppled wooden chair but Saracen had vanished. All that remained were bloody handprints where he had pushed himself up and a lager stain of blood. Dexter didn't want to begin think about the injury that caused Saracen to loose this much blood. And now he had gone off on his own to do who knew what again. “Damn you”, Vex hissed. In this moment the radio cracked to life.

“This is Base. Golf Team, do you copy?”

Dexter cursed under his breath but pressed the talk-button on his chest all the same. Problems were beginning to pile. “This is Golf Team. Base, we heard noises. Has the target appeared?”

“A woman with white hair has managed to breach security. She is inside. We have engaged her.”

“Need back-up?”

“Negative. Keep positions and don't let anyone else slip through. This might be a distraction.”  
Dexter smirked. Oh, really? “Roger that.”

“Base is still manned with a dozen men just in case. The patrols remain. Report in ten.”

“Aye, Sir. Golf Team out.” Another catastrophe averted. High time to track down his fugitive husband.

ooOoOoo

As soon as Rue had overcome the pain that had exploded in his ribcage upon impact, he had used the key Yedra had pushed into his hand and freed himself from the shackles. At this point he was too weary and confused by the overall situation to question her motives and whether she would gain anything by setting him free. Important to him in this moment was that if he guessed correctly, the scientists had been experimenting on the amulet, so if his deduction was on point, the amulet would be sitting alone in the office.  
Shakily, Saracen clambered to his feet, ignoring the burning in his left leg. A last glance towards Dexter let him know that he had everything under control – more or less. The mage hastened towards the stairs leading up onto the truss catwalk as fast as his injuries allowed. Vanquishing the steps, however, took its toll on his battered body and when he pushed open the door he was panting heavily. His bleeding limb was throbbing and his ribs screamed whenever he sucked in lungfuls of air. To his alarm the colourful swirls were back. Fainting was something he really did not need right now.

Saracen never bothered with switching on any lights and made a bee-line for the desk which was drowning in pieces of papers, folders and books. And there, on the fancy chair meant for meaningful and dramatic swivelling, sat a light brown leather pouch on top of a thin paper folder. Rue picked it up and peeped inside. Bingo. Stuffing the satchel in his jeans pocket, he gave the imposing desk a quick look-over but there were too many folders for him to pick the one containing the most valid information. He randomly picked the one the amulet had been lying on and a dark green paper folder, stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans and headed for the door.

'Darn', Saracen thought when he stumbled out on the catwalk and immediately had to grasp the metal railing. He must have lost more blood than he thought he had. His head was swimming and the funny swirls danced faster than before, causing nausea.

At the other end of the staging area suddenly a bluish-white cobweb appeared out of seemingly nowhere. The threads were made of electricity, though and everyone caught up in it, received a minor electric shock. Impressed, Saracen watched the girl, Lagrima, pull the threads back to her, facing down her two last opponents. 

Ciardha and Corvo herself. The Necromancer had wrapped herself in a black cocoon of shadows which had protected her from the icy-blue tendrils while Corvo had conjured inky figures floating in the air before her, absorbing the electricity. Now the three women were dishing out attacks, one meaner than the last and Saracen was glad he was not part of it. Staggering down the stairs without falling proved to be a challenge and on the last step his foot caught on some protruding piece of metal. “Shit”, was all Rue managed to say before he flailed and lost his balance, falling into the arms of Dexter Vex who had appeared out of nowhere.

“Easy, buddy, I gotcha.”

“I feel sick”, Saracen mumbled and collapsed against Dexter.

“Love you too. Can you walk?”  
Saracen breathed heavily, leaning on his husband. “Yes.” It didn't sound too reassuring and Dexter decided to stick close to him.

“What in hell did she do to you?”

“Nothing you want to experience yourself. Let's get out of here.”

Dexter nodded and started moving towards the obliterated shipping gate six. Saracen was in no condition to wriggle through a window. They would have to take the long way around.

To their right, Ciardha, Corvo and their new ally were still engulfed in an epic battle of shadow-waves and inky figures clashing with electric threads tied to cobwebs. Punches and kicks were delivered with ferocious determination and no trick was too cheap.

Saracen stopped. “She the one who helped you create a distraction?”

“Yeah. Kinda forced me to… How did you figure out we had partnered up, anyway?”

“I know things.”

“This also works when you have no powers?”, Dexter sighed. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“This, as in the most perfect hubby you could ever wish for?” Saracen grinned but his voice was beginning to fade once more.

“… right.”

“On whose side is she on then? Truly on ours? And more importantly, do we save her?”

“Honestly? I have no clue where anyone's loyalties lie these days. That woman knows awfully much about Corvo and did help me save you. I suspect they are old enemies.”

“Old enemies? Have you even seen her? She is like fifteen.”

Vex narrowed his eyes. “Huh”, was all he said. The picture of the girl holding a knife to his throat popped into his mind. So a fifteen year old had sneaked up on him and overpowered him just like that? Scandalous. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, when looking at the big picture, she could be part of Corvo's grand scheme.”

“Crusade. Let's keep moving. Lagrima can handle it.”  
Dexter blinked and allowed Saracen to lean on him again. “What?”

“Corvo called it her crusade and apparently I play a major role in it.”

“You?”

“I am magnificent, don't be so incredulous”, Rue said offended. “If it weren't for a cause crazier than anything we have ever faced, I would feel honoured. Well, I do, sort of.”

“You're hopelessly vain, darling”, Dexter drawled and helped Saracen climb down into the car pit. Saracen's resolution to clear the distance on his own had already evaporated into thin air and he had wrapped his arm around Dexter's shoulders for support.

Suddenly, Lagrima leaped into the pit, almost slipping on the abandoned rifle lying there. She blinked, then picked it up, fitted the butt against her shoulder and pulled the trigger. Her frame trembled with the recoil. “OUT! Go, go, go!” Lagrima ushered them on while attempting to keep the Necromancer and Corvo at bay. The Italian had a shimmering inky guardian at her side again who functioned as shield while she advanced. The figure never trembled, never shook from the impacts, in fact, it looked like the projectiles were hitting water. It was Ciardha, however, who won the competition of most shocking performance. One bullet after the other found its mark but the Necromancer never even stopped walking. The wounds immediately sealed themselves with black matter.

“I was wrong”, Saracen winced. “Her object. It wasn't the eyes … it is her entire body. She IS the darkness. That's why me stabbing her had no effect.”

“Guess that is our cue. We are so leaving.” Dexter wrapped his arm around Saracen's waist and almost hoisted him off his feet before dragging him outside, trusting this insanely young girl to cover their escape. Madness. He ignored the pained hiss Saracen offered and continued heading to the back of the warehouse. The sparse shadows barely gave them any cover.

“Don't you dare give up on me now, Saracen”, Vex implored the stumbling man. It was clear that he would not be able to go on for much longer. The limp was more than prominent now and the way Saracen held his palm pressed against his ribcage suggested he had broken something. His breathing had become fast and shallow while more laboured at the same time.

“I'll try, o Dexter mine.”

“We ain't got no time for poetry, Saracen.” Dexter huffed.  
Dexter and Saracen had reached the corner of the building and halted. Now they faced twenty meters of unprotected open ground before reaching the fence and ultimately the safety beyond.

“What are you guys waiting for?” Lagrima had reached them but not before spanning an electric cobweb into the hole in the wall to keep their pursuers from gaining on them too quickly. “My barrier won't hold them off for long and the further away I get the less efficient my threads become.”

“Uh … I have a car at the other side of that wire fence.”

“Excellent. How do we cross this brightly lit area?”

“Working on that.”

“Work faster then”, Lagrima huffed with her back to them, watching out for attackers. She had abandoned the rifle since it had run empty after ten bullets. Dexter had not been riding the economical wave back there.

“Help me with Saracen.”

Lagrima ducked under Saracen's other arm, consequently wrapping it around her shoulders. “You are in good shape, Mr.. Considering she tortured you for quite a while.”

“Glad to know you enjoyed the show”, Saracen muttered. “What were you doing there, anyway? Who are you anyway?”

“Lagrima Passero, Detective with the Italian Sanctuary in Milan. And if you are going to point out that I am a small girl, well, no. I was born in 1821.”

Saracen nodded, impressed. “Dexter, how is the escape plan coming?”

“Shush, you two. I am trying to think here. Ok, I got it.” Dexter cleared his throat. “Base, come in”, he said in a deeper voice, earning a raised eyebrow from both Rue and Lagrima. He held up a hand and shook his head when Lagrima wanted to say something. “Base, come in”, he repeated sternly.

“This is Base.”

“We spotted the intruder, a small girl, white hair. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Heading southwest now. Permission to engage.”

“Don't spook her, Golf. We are on our way to intercept her path. Follow but don't engage. Keep us posted.”

“Yes, Sir. Golf Team out.”

Saracen snickered weakly. “Golf Team?”

“It's like they beg to be made fun of. Let's keep moving!”

Dexter set a pace that bordered on jogging, although he knew it was in all likelihood too fast for Saracen. They had to make it to the fence and back to the hotel. Saracen would be safer there, he would have his medical supplies and they could draw up a shield as primary protection.

Please, let us make it, Dexter prayed silently.

Saracen could barely stand on his own but he never complained as he tried not to be the reason for their slow progress. The funny blurs were back and a faint buzzing noise rang in his ears. His breathing was shallow and unsteady. Saracen knew, unconsciousness was lurking just around the corner. Still, he fought on. There was no way he could give up now. Not now.

Dexter and Lagrima were presently helping Saracen clear the big hole in the fence the Dexter had molten into it without hesitation, when the radio in his ear cracked again.

“Golf Team, this is Base. Where are you?”

Vex decided not to answer. Saracen was relying more and more on Lagrima and himself for physical support. They had almost reached the car. Come on!

“Golf Team, come in!”

Dexter rolled his eyes. “This is Golf Team.”

“Do you have vision on target? What is your position?”

“He sounds profoundly confused”, Dexter informed the others with a smirk before pressing the speak button on his chest again. “I do have vision on target. She is here with me.”

“Excellent.”

“Meh, depends, man.”

“I beg your pardon, Golf?!”

“I am certainly happy to have her with me but you won't be so thrilled about that.”

“What do you mean by that? Explain yourself, Golf!”

“Oh, I am sorry. Didn't I mention? This is Dexter Vex speaking. We are currently making our grand escape and doing remarkably well. Greet your boss from me.” He could imagine the face of the soldier at the other end of the radio. Going from irate tomato-red to how-do-I-tell-my-boss-I-royally-fucked-up-pale in 1.2 seconds. As expected, there came no reply.

Finally, the Mustang came into sight and Dexter allowed a spark of hope to kindle. Since he had left it unlocked and stashed the key in the glove compartment, he didn't have to bother searching for it. He opened the back door and helped Saracen into the car. Groaning, the mage collapsed into it. With a relieved sigh Dexter slid into the driver's seat next to Lagrima who was already strapped in.  
Roaring, the car came to life and soon sped down the dusty road towards the town.

\----  
Translations:  
1 Why don't we use the language of our country?  
2 You don't have the right to call it 'our' country no more. You have betrayed your people when you decided to embrace those crazy religious fanatics!  
3 They are not crazy and I was not the only one to distance myself from your imperfect ideas. They showed me a magnificent world. A world of unlimited knowledge and peace  
4 No, it wouldn't be peace. It would be a world destroyed and devoured by flames.  
5 So you haven't changed your mind ... Shame. You would have been valuable to us, Lagrima.  
6 Or what?  
7 Don't move


	7. Chapter 7

Saracen drifted in and out of consciousness. The drive back to the hotel was lost in a haze of houses and streets rushing by and lights dancing on the window of the car he was leaning against. He used Dexter's leather jacket he had found next to him as a cushion. The smell of tattered leather mixed with the soft fragrance of Dexter's aftershave was soothing and comforting and he let his mind relax. Dex would take care of him; there was no need for him to worry. No need …

When Saracen woke, he was snuggled into a cosy warm bed with the sun tickling his nose. With a satisfied smile he opened his still sleepy eyes and looked about the room. Saracen frowned when it was all too unfamiliar. The small bed he was lying in stood in the far corner of the room which was furnished with a narrow wardrobe, a desk bathing in sunlight directly beneath the big window and an armchair with his bag in it. All in all, it looked very lived-in. There were posters with people he did not recognise, as well as pencil drawings of what he assumed where book or movie characters. Quotes, written in beautiful calligraphy covered part of the wall and door. Very artsy.

“Honestly, Dex, if this is one of your weird friends' house … again”, Saracen mumbled and carefully swung his legs out of bed. Only now did he realize that his entire torso and left leg were heavily bandaged. Probably to keep the healing mud from splashing about and ruining the nice sheets. Saracen could feel the slimy substance on his skin. “Ew.”

The mage stood and when his head was not swimming nor his body threatened to faint if he didn't lie down at once he headed towards the second door, assuming it was a bathroom. On his way there he stopped to search his bag for the rest of yellowish bruise-removing rock he liked to bring on his adventures. The healing mud would have fixed his ribs but the bruises were more than likely still visible.

Saracen knew he didn't have to worry about his safety. Dexter never would have left him on his own while he was still injured if he were not save. That was why he decided to take a bath.

The water was hot and the steam made it hard for Saracen to breathe but that was what he loved so much about sitting in the hot tub, letting his thoughts wander. Sometimes he would take a bath with Dexter, the both of them just watching one another or reading.

The crumbs of porous rock Saracen had discovered deep down in his bag, had dissolved perfectly and he could see the garish bruises on his chest vanish. Purple and dark blue turned to green and yellow before fading completely.

Saracen sighed and leaned back against the cold surface of the tub. “I wonder what Dex is up to … He has not visited.”

Just in that moment he heard the door to the room open and a second later, Dexter Vex poked his head into the bathroom. “There you are! Good to see you up and well.” A broad smile tugged at the corners of Dexter's mouth and he moved closer. The mage knelt down next to the bathtub and leaned over the rim to give Saracen a soft kiss. “You are a reckless one, you know that?”, he said and ran his fingertips over Saracen's cheek.

“It wasn't my fault”, Saracen defended himself, reaching up to Dexter's neck and holding on as he pulled him closer for another kiss. “I knew you would find me”, he whispered. Dexter only smiled lovingly at him.

“You hungry? There is still breakfast.”

“Always! Man, I am starving!”

Dexter got to his feet again. “Then hurry up and get dressed.”

“Wanna bring me my clothes?”

A sly smile danced over Dexter's face. “Go and get them yourself.”

“Pervert. You just want to see me naked.”

Dramatically, Vex pressed a palm against his chest. “Too true. These funny bubbles cover up everything worth looking at.” He exited the bathroom and from the noises that followed, he had slouched into the armchair.

“You do see my face, though”, Saracen pointed out, already knowing the answer he would be getting.

“Like I said.”

Saracen left the bathroom wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped around his hips and a mock scowl. “I never should have married you”, he pouted and bent to press another gentle kiss to Dexter's lips. When he moved away, there was a concerned expression on Vex's face. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Saracen sighed. “Yes. It wasn't the first time I got tortured for information and considering our luck, it won't have been the last time.”

“I was worried.”

“I know”, Saracen mumbled and let Dexter pull him into a bear hug. They remained in each other's arms for a few moments.

“There is a draft and I am getting cold. I wanna put something on”, Saracen finally declared.

“Oh … sorry.”

Saracen grabbed his bag and moved towards the bed where he started pulling shirt upon shirt and trousers upon trousers out of his satchel. Glancing at Dexter in his combat suit he stuffed his ordinary clothes back. If Dex was still wearing his protective clothing, Saracen sure as hell would follow his lead.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in”, Saracen said, absent-mindedly while he sought to bring his clothes in order.

“Saracen, no-”, Dexter started and jumped out of the armchair but it was too late.

Noah opened the door, balancing a tablet on one hand. “Mr. Rue, I believe, you-” The receptionist stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at Saracen's unbandaged chest which was devoid of any bruising; just smooth skin. No deep gashes were visible on his leg, not even a scar had remained of the terrors Noah had seen the night before. He could still see the image of an unconscious Saracen being dragged into the hotel lobby, bleeding and hurt. The memory of how he had helped Dexter clean his wounds and bandage Saracen's injuries with this odd slime, the blond had insisted on, seemed like mockery in the morning sun. The fine red line where his lip had cracked was the only indication of Saracen having been involved in violent affairs at all. 

The tablet wobbled in the trembling grasp of Noah and Dexter quickly took it from him and set it on the bedside table before he dropped it.

“How … ?” Noah started but his voice gave out and he cleared his throat before his second try. “How are you healed so quickly?”

ooOoOoo

“Magic?”, Noah echoed incredulously.

After the ginger had walked in on Saracen having been transformed back into his old self, the two mages had seen no other possibility than to let him in on their big secret. They both liked the squirrelly receptionist and since neither of them specialised in memory-alteration, they decided on telling Noah. It would make matters much less complicated.

Saracen was sitting tailor-fashion on the bed, happily munching away at croissants and muesli and nodding enthusiastically.

“Yep, magic. It really exists.”

Noah leaned forward in the armchair Dexter had helped him into when the receptionist had found himself unable to either move or tear his gaze from Saracen. His eyes shone brightly and a smile that Saracen could not help but describe as hopeful, had stolen on his lips. “Like in books?”

“Kind of. You see, there are people who can manipulate the four elements. We call them Elementals and-”

“Are you an Elemental?” Noah asked eagerly. He bit his lip and Dexter had to hide his amused grin at the sight of this brimming ray of sunshine. Rather than running in terror, the ginger was bursting to learn more about the secret world he had just discovered. It seemed like Noah was indeed a child trapped in an adult's body. The mind still roamed the uncharted lands between pages of books while he was stuck in this reality. If he could, Noah would probably pack his things and vanish between the covers of the next best book he could find. That, Vex was sure of.

Saracen laughed. “No, unfortunately, I am not. And neither is Dexter. We belong to the second category of sorcerers. The Adepts. Each of us have learned a trait of magic that we use.”

“What is your magic, Mr. Rue?”

Dexter smirked. “Yes, Saracen, what is your stunning power? Married for so long and you still refuse to tell me.”

“I know things.”

Noah seemed confused. “Is that it? I mean, can you cheat at card games or know when someone is going to die?”

“I just know things”, Saracen repeated with a sly smile. “Dexter's power is more spectacular, though. Ask him.”

Expectantly, Noah stared at Vex with big eyes like a kid a a magician's show about to see a stunning trick.

Dexter shook his head and held up his palm. “I am an Energythrower. Don't get too excited.” Purple energy flared up in his open hand and Noah gave a little start. He overcame his surprise rather quickly, though.

“Amazing!”

Saracen smiled when Noah continued to pepper them with questions. After the harrowing night he had spent, it was lovely to simply sit and chat with his friends. The sun was shining and Noah had made him hot chocolate with whipped cream – what else could he wish for? Dexter was on the bed right beside him, their shoulders touching, knowing how much physical contact comforted him. It did good to push their problems at the back of their heads for a little while. 

“Mr. Rue?”

“Hm? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. And you can call me Saracen, if you like. This is Dexter.”  
Noah blushed. “I … I just wanted to ask whether you still need some more muesli or anything.”

“I am good, thanks. It was delicious. And I think it goes without saying that you must never tell anyone about magic or even having met us.”

Smiling, Noah nodded. “Well, I have always believed in magic, perhaps my imagination was a little different that the truth turned out to be, but still. I think it was around the age of fourteen that I ceased telling people about my believes. Nobody ever wanted to listen to such 'stupid nonsense' and told me I should think ahead, plan what I wanted to become and do with my life in the future. They said imagining things was a waste of time and energy, the which I should spend on my studies.”

“Sorry to hear that”, Dexter said and meant it. He knew there was nothing worse than destroying a child's dreams by letting them feel how invalid they were. 

Noah nodded and continued. “I actually wanted to become a librarian because I love surrounding myself with all those fantastic worlds where I am at home. My parents who owned this hotel thought it was not lucrative enough so I learned how to run a customer-serving business instead.”  
Saracen listened, thankful that the focus of the conversation had shifted from him to Noah. This way, the questions he knew Dexter would pose, were still far away. Or so he thought.

“What happened to you last night, Mr. Rue?” Noah asked. The concept of restraint was obviously foreign to him.

Saracen blinked. “Huh?”

As much as Dexter wanted to snicker at the display of utter lack of tact, he knew his husband refrained from talking about negative experiences. Especially if it came to torture. “Give him some more time, Noah.”

“I am wondering as well, though”, came a female voice from the door. Lagrima was leaning in the frame with arms crossed. Nobody had either seen or heard her approach. Stealth seemed to be one of her specialities, as well as dramatic entries.

“Lagrima!” Saracen's head shot up. “I don't think I had the possibility to thank you for my rescue yet.”

Dexter cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Oh… thanks for the rescue, Dex.”

“You are the worst”, Vex declared and gave Saracen a quick chaste peck on the cheek.

Lagrima entered the now crowded room and cleared a small corner of the desk from papers for her to sit on. “Now, Dexter was not willing to talk to me without you, Saracen but now that you are awake I would really appreciate if you told me what the hell you two have to do with Corvo.”

Saracen and Dexter exchanged a quick glance. Then the blond spoke up. “Would you believe it was a coincidence that we even met her?”

Lagrima sighed and rubbed her temples. “It takes a lot of skill to sniff out danger and trouble like you do. People are right, you Dead Men are a nightmare.”

“Are you dead?!” Noah asked, his voice notably higher than before. At this point they could have told him anything and he would have with no hesitation believed it.

Rue laughed and waved his hand. “No, don't worry. Me and Dexter are part of a group in the Irish … magician army. We were given the name Dead Men because we came back from missions that were designated impossible.”

Lagrima frowned at the ginger man sitting on the brim of the armchair in an upright position, kneading his vest again. “Is it really wise to drag a civilian into this?” She was too educated to say 'mortal' and had no sympathies for people who looked down on others simply because they could or would not meet their fancy expectations. Sorcerer or not. “I don't wish to see him hurt.”

“Noah is a good man, he has done so much for us already and it would be unfair to send him away now”, Dexter said. “Besides, it is his hotel and he could have turned us away last night but he didn't. Even though he did not understand the whole situation then, there were no questions asked. Noah knew it would be dangerous if he let us stay but he didn't care.”

Lagrima nodded and gave the ginger a bright smile. “Welcome to the sorcerer's squad then, Noah. I'm Lagrima by the way.” She leaned forward and shook a baffled Noah's hand.

“Uh … nice to meet you, Lagrima.” The receptionist hesitated for a moment. “If I am not entirely mistaken, lagrima is an old Italian word meaning 'tear'.”

The girl raised an eyebrow, obviously impressed. “That's correct.”

“Sometimes I listen to opera. That is – regrettably – the extend of my Italian vocabulary. What is your magic?”

Lagrima laughed. “Awfully nosy, aren't you? I am an Adept. My power is electricity.”

“Can I see?”

Jagged bluish-white tendrils of electricity erupted from the girl's fingertips and palm in a controlled manner.

“Wow ...”

Lagrima snapped her hand shut, the electricity vanished and all that remained was the faint smell of ozone hanging in the air. “Now then, back to the topic. How exactly did you get involved in this mess?”

Saracen scratched his head, not wanting to admit just yet how they had come to track down a gang of thieves and stumbled upon a major operation. “What is your business with Corvo?” he asked   
instead.

“She is my case. As I said before, I am an Italian Sanctuary detective and it is my job to arrest her. I have been trying to find her for two years now and have finally obtained information about her location when you two decided to show up and ruin my investigation. You sure are aware of her being a wanted criminal, right?”

Dexter nodded. “We met her on the battlefield in Spain once but actually I have assumed she had died during the War. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“Corvo vanished when Baron Vengeous was defeated and her Weltanschauung was completely obliterated by the failure of bringing the Faceless Ones back in the 50's.”

“60's”, Rue corrected. “Skulduggery beat the Baron in 1861. Grand battle that was, although he cheated.”

Noah blinked and laughed uneasily. “You say it as though you had been present.”

“I was.”

“Oh.”

“I am over four hundred years old”, Saracen clarified.

“I see. Let me just sit here and think about that for a moment. I dare not to ask how old you are, Lagrima”, Noah said weakly.

The girl smiled. “I was born in 1821 but uh … Even sorcerers that are that old are not supposed to look like children. I am afraid there was a druid once that I crossed at the age of fifteen and he … well, he cursed me to look my, quote unquote, 'immature, impudent, arrogant and disgusting self' until I die.”

“Charming”, Saracen remarked.

“Anyway”, the girl continued. “Me and Corvo go way back. She was not always on the wrong side in this never-ending war.”

Dexter shifted on the bed and put an arm around Saracen's waist. “Then I only met her after she jumped ship and became a member of the church.”

Lagrima nodded. “Few people remember her the way she was before she gave up reason for knowledge. That is what she seeks the most, you must know. Corvo was born from a, let's call it a wealthy family in the late 1400's in northern Italy. Due to her parents' intense care and money, she could afford to sit inside their library all day long and study volume after volume.”

“How did you meet? You say you knew her before she became ultimately crazy. That leaves about forty years” Saracen wanted to know, stealing a sidelong glance at Noah. Even though the ginger probably had no clue what they were talking about, he was listening to every word that was exchanged. To him it was surely equally to reading a book heading into a direction he could not really follow but he still intended to keep reading until it all made sense.

The girl inhaled deeply, obviously hesitant to share all of her past. “That's not really important right now. Corvo completely snapped after Vengeous was imprisoned. She was devastated when she learned, the Faceless Ones could more than likely not be brought back. And then she vanished. Left overnight. Since we had a minor disagreement shortly before, I had not the courage nor the mind to follow her and look for her.” Lagrima's voice had turned bitter. “I always tried to stay out of the mess that was the War and joined the Italian Sanctuary when I needed work. It was about five years ago Corvo resurfaced again but I decided, not to get involved. Personal issues.”

“She tortured you, right?” Dexter asked with cold lacing his voice. “You have been her prisoner.”

“It's … it's not that easy. You don't understand. We used to be friends, sisters even. But that is all in the past and right now, I will do everything I can to stop whatever malevolent plan she is cooking.”

“Hatching”, Saracen corrected, smiling. Lagrima's English was exceptionally good and yet there was the occasional misuse of words which was really cute. Although he was quite sure she did not want to be told her English was cute. “You hatch a plan.”

“Okay, let's focus on the present”, Vex propositioned. “What is she after?”  
Lagrima shrugged. “I have no clue. Knowledge as far as I am concerned but how or in what manner, I don't know. Tonight I wanted to sneak into the factory and take a look around but was delayed with a daring rescue mission. Some old man got himself captured.”

“Oi!” Saracen sported an expression of mock offence and Lagrima blew him a kiss.

“The amulet!” Saracen shouted and the sudden outburst had everyone give a start. “I … I had it. There it was and … where is it? Where are my jeans from last night?” Excited he squirmed out of Dexter's arms and leaped up from the bed, almost knocking over the cup with the rest of hot chocolate.

Vex leaned against the wall and put his arm behind his head as a cushion. “Relax. We know you nicked it. It's there on the desk. We didn't want to touch anything, though. Important was to patch you up and construct a shield around the hotel.”

“A shield? As in energy shield? What about the other customers of the hotel?”

Noah blushed a deep red and his answer was mumbled. “Actually, people only come here for breakfast. You and Mr. Vex have been the first customers I had in weeks. It is mostly just me and my cats roaming the building.”

“That's kinda sad”, Lagrima stated.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” The girl turned her attention back to Saracen. “You think Corvo is after the amulet?”

“Maybe. She did have scientists experiment on the thing, that much I was able to see between … sessions. But she has a whole lot of stolen artefacts stored in that warehouse. Shelves upon shelves filled with magical objects; it looked like Corvo's personal repository.”

Noah shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Will this Corvo person come after us?”

“Definitely. She lost her prize – and me”, Saracen said, remembering the mad sparkle in Corvo's eyes when she had declared him to be the chosen one. “Muttered something about me having been chosen to be the key to some door that will lead to the conclusion of her crusade or something. This part highly disturbs me; she obviously needs me a alive but for what purpose?”

“Human sacrifice”, Lagrima joked and Saracen whined.

“Wouldn't be the first time church members tried to open portals by using human sacrifices in order to please the Faceless Ones”, the girl pointed out, oblivious to Saracen's discomfort and now seriously considering this option.

“You suggest she wants to bring the Faceless Ones back to this world?” Dexter asked while soothingly stroking Saracen's back.

Lagrima shrugged. “She wouldn't be the first one to try. Of course, we cannot know for sure unless we ask Corvo herself.”

“Are we safe here? I ask again”, Noah cut in again. “I mean, I feel a lot better after we let those men out of my cellar but-”

“You what? Dexter?”

Vex held up his hands defensively. “The risk of having Spencer and his men locked into the boiler room was too high. Although we cannot say for certain that they were mages, the sole thought of them breaking out and for example helping Corvo from the inside has had me on edge. Numerous possibilities come to mind: disabling the shield from within, taking Noah hostage and so forth. A battle fought on two fronts is what we really don't need right now.”

“They have five more men now”, Saracen pointed out. “But I see your point. At least they are going to come at us from only one direction – the front.”

Noah cleared his throat. “Are we safe then?”

“I put the shield up myself”, Lagrima said. “It will hold them off and as long as we don't step outside, we should be fine.”

Saracen picked up the brown paper folder that had accompanied the amulet and flipped it open. “These are the results the scientists got from experimenting on the damn amulet. Let me see … You two, take a look at the green folder if you please.” Saracen picked it up and let it fly onto the bed where his husband was stretching to reach it.

“Sure.” Vex peeked at the first and only sheet and snorted. “Lagrima, if you were so kind.”

“Hm?”

“It is Italian.”

Lagrima retrieved the piece of paper and started reading and suddenly burst out laughing. “Saracen, how did you manage to pick exactly this piece of paper? I am sure there were a lot available, right?”  
Rue drew his eyebrows together. “Yes, the whole desk was covered … why? What is the matter with the sheet?”

“Mr. Rue, you took the only folder that is absolutely useless to us in this moment. It is literally just a collection of quotes from books she likes.”

Saracen stared while Dexter shook his head, laughing and even Noah smiled, bemused. “Luck has not been my friend lately”, he mused and continued to read with the others watching him.

Finally, Saracen looked up and took the small leather satchel containing the amulet in hand.   
“Alright then.”

Dexter held up his hand. “Wait a minute there. We shouldn't really touch it with it being dangerous and all.”

“It already absorbed all of my magical powers, what else could it do?”

“That thing could kill you, you moron!”

Saracen flopped the leather back and grinned from one ear to the other. “See you on the dark side then, honey.” He stuck his hand inside.

“Saracen, don't!” three voices shouted in unison.  
Lagrima immediately pushed away from the desk and ducked behind the armchair while Dexter moved up on the bed as though he wanted to hurl himself at his husband. Noah seemed to be rooted to the spot, settled into the chair.

The mage pulled the object from within its leathery container and held it into the sun, examining it. Nothing happened. No lightning bolt striking him down, no red light ending him then and there. He simply held it.

Dexter was about to punch Saracen in the face. “You fucking idiot! What the hell, man?!” He hated to admit that his heart was pounding way too fast and that he felt light-headed. What if that thing had hurt Saracen? He couldn't begin to fathom what it would have felt like to lose his husband for good.

“Don't worry. I informed myself. It is completely harmless to non-sorcerers”, Saracen waved his hand dismissively and carefully put the amulet down onto the desk, spreading the papers so he had all the required information at hand.

Vex couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Are you out of your mind? You are a sorcerer.”

“I lost all of my magic”, Saracen said bitterly. “I am not a sorcerer right now. I can feel the void where my magic is supposed to be and hell, I am going to reclaim it. I feel so empty, so fucking useless and that is why I will take matters into my own hand.”

Dexter stared at him. “You are actually going to poke this thing until it is so annoyed it will give you back your powers, am I right?”

“Basically, yes.”

“My god, you are so crazy.” Dexter ran his fingers through his blond mop of hair.

“Could you think this over for one second?” Lagrima butted into their conversation. She had abandoned her post behind the armchair and it had only taken her one quick glance at the magical object to recognise it and its powers. “This is some serious business, okay? I happen to know this amulet and let me tell you, it is old.”

“I need my magic back!”

“What good will it do you when you are dead? And seriously, you were stupid enough to touch it?”  
Saracen looked down at the white-haired defiantly. “Mistakes happen. We had no intention of messing up Corvo's plans. All that we were seeking was to retrieve the amulet so I could have my fricking magic back, okay?”

“This amulet is of the Morrígan.”

Dexter held up his hands, palms facing outwards and his expression was one of utter incredulousness. “Hold on a second. You want to tell me, this crappy piece of metal belongs to an Irish goddess? The Irish goddess of war no less.”

Lagrima nodded firmly. “Correct.”

“This is madness. How do we always end up in such things? Saracen, I blame you.”

“Unfair but accepted”, Rue frowned. Confronted with these new problems he was no longer sure they could handle the situation themselves. “We should probably call this in.”

Dexter huffed. “Since when are you so keen on reporting back to the Elders?” Rubbing his eyes, the blond dropped into the chair next to the desk. “I did already call Ghastly last night. You were hurt and I thought maybe he could send us help. However, he cannot and will not send any back-up. They are having a minor catastrophe going on. Something about the end of the world again and he is not able to dispatch any Sanctuary members at the moment. We are on our own.”

“Catastrophe?”

“Skul and Val are involved. Wreaking havoc I hear. The usual, really.”

The mages were so caught up in their little argument, none of them had seen Noah get out of his armchair and approach the amulet still lying on the desk. Harmless to non-sorcerers? That was what Mr. Rue had said. The receptionist bent over the sheets covered in drawings and notes, then turned to the amulet. It was a beautiful piece of silver metal forged into a more or less oval ring with runes carved into the outer rim. Three lines spread out from the centre of the amulet like a cobweb and in its exact middle lay a dark blue stone which was held by the silver threads. A last glance at the notes and Noah placed his fingers into the empty spaces between the metal and turned them clockwise while holding the outer ring in place.

The sound of the tendrils clicking into the next position made everyone turn.

“I reversed it. Now, Saracen should be getting his powers back by simply touching it again”, Noah declared proudly.

The mages gaped. Lagrima was the first to speak. “How exactly did you reverse it?”

“Apparently it ticks like a clock and if you rotate the inner part of the amulet, it should not absorb but distribute. At least that is what I gathered from those notes.”

“Saracen, no”, Dexter warned in a low growl. “If you touch this and die I will wallop you, I swear!” Secretly he knew that his husband would not hesitate.

Saracen licked his lip before slowly reaching out towards the silver object. “How sure are you about this, Noah? I am totally ready to risk my life in order to get my magic back but I would rather live to experience Dexter lecturing me about my recklessness.”

“Quite sure.” The nervous undertone was obvious in his voice. “At least forty percent.”  
Saracen laughed. “Man, those odds are wild.”

“Don't. Honey, please.”

Rue screwed his eyes shut and let his fingers brush against the cold metal. He expected a bang or a flash of light. A sizzling or weird feeling. Instead, there was … nothing. Disappointed, he drew his hand back. “I guess that was a wrong call”, he said and collapsed.

“Saracen! No, no, no!” Dexter rushed to his husband's side, kneeling next to Saracen's curled up form. Tears were threatening when he saw that the mage was breathing hard and clutching at his chest, a pained expression edged into his features.

Rue shuddered one last time, then his eyes he had shut firmly, snapped open again and his breathing steadied. “Whoa, that was harsh.”

“Are you okay?”

Saracen nodded and his trademark smirk split his face. “I got my magic back.”


	8. Chapter 8

Saracen was not sure what had woken him up. It was still dark and the only light in the hotel room was the faint glow of the moon falling through the window. Saracen sat up and moved back until he was leaning against the headboard.

After the fiasco of the previous day, Saracen and Dexter had been given another room. The day had been spent with pointless discussions where everyone and that included Noah had thrown their theories and thoughts into the conversation. In the end they had decided to sleep over it before coming up with a plan. For now they were save behind the energy shield Lagrima had constructed around the building.

Next to Saracen, Dexter grumbled something in his sleep. Saracen smiled and watched his husband for a moment. What must he have thought when he had been kidnapped? Dexter must have been furious and worried beyond imagining.

Gently, he stroked his stubbly cheek before curling his fingers in his soft blond hair.

“Sarcn?” Dexter mumbled sleepily and rolled onto his side to blink up at him. “Whatisit?”  
Saracen sighed. “Go back to sleep, honey. I was just thinking.”

“That is never a good sign.” Dexter sat up as well, finally more or less awake now. Tiredly, he let himself fall against the headboard next to Saracen.

“Shut up”, Saracen snorted but with a smile.

“Hey”, Dexter whispered softly and placed a finger under Saracen's chin, lifting his head up and leaned in to give him a gentle kiss. “Talk to me.”

“I can't shake the feeling, Dex. Pain by beating is one thing but what she did to me … it was terrible”, Saracen finally admitted quietly and moved closer to Dexter who drew him into his arms and rested his chin on his head. “She would draw ink-runes on my skin that entered my bloodstream and set me on fire. The ink would course through my veins and it felt like I was burning from the inside out. There was only pain. Hot white pain slamming into me. Over and over again. I even dare to say that Serpine's famous red hand is less effective than Corvo's ink poison.

“I wanted to see you again, Dex. That is what kept me going, although the agony was extraordinary. The amulet, the honour, I didn't care about any of it. I knew, if I broke, she would kill me and then I never would have seen you again. I just wanted to see you again.” Saracen's voice was trembling and he had his arms wrapped around Dexter, soaking in his scent, feeling the smooth skin of his back under his fingers. “I knew you would find me if only I were strong enough to endure for the time it took you to get to me.”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

Saracen looked up when he heard Dexter's voice shake ever so slightly and saw the tears glistening on his cheeks. “I made you sad”, he stated quietly. “How rude of me.”

Despite himself, Dexter huffed with a smile and pulled up his nose. “I love you, you absolute idiot.”

“I love you too.” 

Saracen smiled. Dexter was there for him, no matter the odds, no matter the threat they faced. They would always face them together. Voicing his thoughts had lifted some of the weight off his chest and he was still embracing his husband when he finally fell asleep again.

“How's the plan coming along?” Lagrima was slouching comfortably in the armchair in the lobby, her legs dangling over one arm. Taking another bite from her slice of bread which was covered with a finger-thick layer of Nutella, she looked at the others expectantly.

Dexter shook his head. “It's not. Plus, she has the hotel surrounded. If we leave, she knows.”

“Really?” Noah asked and walked to the window.

Indeed, there were several soldiers bearing rifles in black tactical gear watching the hotel. It was clear that they were stuck and would not be going anywhere anytime soon. At least not until they had figured out a plan.

“We know nothing of Corvo's intentions and are quite clueless as to her endgame”, Dexter continued.

“Knowledge.”

“So you said, but knowledge is a vast area. She could desire to learn anything about mechanics or try to find a way to destroy the earth.”

Saracen glanced at the silver piece of jewellery lying between them on the glass table. “It has got to do something with the amulet. That thing has enormous power. Who knows? Perhaps it could be used to tear down the walls between the dimensions and create a path for the Faceless Ones?”

“Mila would be crazy enough to try it”, Lagrima agreed, stuffing the last of her bread in her mouth.

“Tell us more about this thirst for knowledge”, Noah requested. “Maybe that way we can learn more about her motives.”

“Alright. Mila grew up around books as I already told you. However, her parents were religious fanatics who fought for Baron Vengeous. Mila has been told tales of the Faceless Ones, beginning from the day she was born, to her they must be the most glorious entities, so knowledgeable about worlds, about dimensions we have never even heard of. She never really cared for religion in that sense, all she wanted from the Faceless Ones was to learn what was beyond. Mila craves to obtain knowledge but not for power or strength. In a sick way she is just curious.”

Saracen rubbed his cheeks and raised his eyebrows. “You are telling me, she killed hundreds of people because she is curious?”

Lagrima nodded earnestly. “Yes. Mila was not always this cold person you know. She was kind and warm … but none of those traits have survived her descend into madness.”

“What happened?” Dexter wanted to know.

Lagrima just shook her head. “Long story short, we ended up disagreeing on the matter of the Faceless Ones and our paths separated. I never wanted to see her again; the Sanctuary officials practically had to beg me to go after her again.”

“Knowledge?” Noah asked again. He had settled down on an arm of the couch, listening intently. 

“What if she does intend to bring something to this world and ask it some questions about what is out there?”

“It is not like you could expect a bodiless entity from another dimension to step through a portal and have a cup of tea with Corvo while she asks it how the weather over there was. She has got to know that the Faceless Ones are not in a chatty mood. Skulduggery spent a year with them and all they ever gave to him was torture. They never talked no matter what he tried”, Dexter pointed out. This conversation was going round in circles again and he was already tired of it.

Noah was not ready to give up on his theory yet. “But the amulet contains massive energy, right? What if that energy, this raw power could be collected and then used to draw a bodiless entity as you so freely called it into our dimension?”

Lagrima nodded approvingly. “Others have tried. Others have already succeeded.”  
“What does she need me for, then?” Saracen asked. “Corvo referred to me as key, if I may be so selfish as to bring that into the conversation.”

Silence ensued as everybody thought really hard how this piece could fit into their theory. In the end Lagrima spoke up. “I am still for human sacrifice.”

“Come on! Maybe she is just jealous for my power because I know things? And she wants to absorb my magic? You know, knowledge and stuff.”

“It is the only thing that makes sense”, Lagrima defended herself.

Dexter smirked. “There wouldn't have been much to absorb.”

“We could use the amulet”, Saracen suggested, shooting an irritated look at Dexter.

“Have you ever read The Lord of the Rings?” Noah exclaimed. “It is a book about why not to use an evil piece of jewellery for your own purposes. We should destroy it.”

“Easy there, Frodo”, Dexter laughed. “Perhaps we should concentrate on the amulet as it seems to be the centre of Corvo's attention.” He glanced towards his husband. “Without using it. We just gather what we know about it. Maybe it will give us some insight on Corvo's plans. Anyway, we have nothing else to do while we are hiding in here. We could as well hit the books and see what we can learn.”

“Fine with me”, Lagrima agreed and the others nodded eagerly as well. “The notes Saracen stole were not very useful, to be honest. They involve mainly technical data which means, Mila already knows of its origin and the legends surrounding it.”

Saracen frowned. “It was not guarded very well, I have to say. Sitting alone in that office. Corvo must have been rather confident nobody would seek her out. On the other hand, who would be stupid enough to attack an entire army by themselves?” This last comment was pointed at Dexter who was busy inspecting a darker stain on the brown leather of the couch.

“Were I in the possession of such a powerful artefact, I would guard it like the pupils of my own eyes”, Lagrima agreed.

“What?” Dexter couldn't contain the smile breaking through.

The girl raised her eyebrows expectantly and held up her hands, palms facing upwards. “What what?”

“Guard it like the pupils of your own eyes?”

“Is that not how you say it? In Italian we say that.”

Saracen laughed good-naturedly. “You guard something like gold. Or cherish something like your own life.”

“Some people would rather die than live in a world they cannot perceive no longer.”

“That was deep.”

Noah sprang up and hastened over to his bookshelf. “I do happen to have a encyclopedia about ancient deities somewhere. Also, the Irish gods and goddesses are super interesting; I once was really into all sorts of ancient believes. Roman, Greek, Indian, Norse and Irish as well. Of course, why shouldn't I? I am Irish after all.”

The mages exchanged amused looks. Noah had forgotten all about the danger lurking outside and that Death basically was knocking at their door. 

Up until now he had effaced himself as much as possible during the heated arguments. Most of the things he did not understand and he didn't want to seem too nosy and ask questions all the time. But this was something apart from making hot chocolate that he could do: books and words and stories were Noah's field of expertise and he would pull his weight and not be left out. He would stun them with what he knew!

“Miss Lagrima, you said you knew the amulet. What else could you tell us about it?” Noah began rifling through the massive shelf, piling books on his arm and carrying them back to the small coffee table. When he put them down, the magazines splashed to all sides and slid off the glass surface.

The girl threw her messy white braid over her shoulder and sat up straight. “Not much, to be honest. I have been informed that Mila was after this piece of junk and that it was really powerful. When I heard rumours about it belonging to the Morrígan, I even had to look her up. That's about it. I know it can absorb crazy amounts of power and is highly dangerous but other than that, I am as wise as any of you.”

Noah nodded, the gears in his mind turning and running. “So you are not even sure that it is associated with the Morrígan?” It almost sounded disappointed.

“I am very sure now. Especially after I witnessed how it restored magic.”

“Technically, it could be any old magical artefact”, Dexter suggested.

Saracen shook his head vehemently. “I beg to differ; it is hers alright.”

“I almost dare not ask; how do you know, honey?”

“I do.”

“But how?”

“I know things, Dex”, Saracen said, slightly piqued.

Vex threw up his arms in defeat. “Can't argue with that. Gents, my lady, this is indeed the amulet of the Irish goddess of war. Congratulations to us.”

Noah grabbed the first book from his massive pile and opened it. He traced his finger down a page which the others assumed showed a table of contents. “Excellent!” Noah exclaimed, already lost in the world between the letters. He had not even found what he was looking for when he already started prattling. “The Morrígan – also called the Irish Kali, which I personally find very fitting – is a negative trinity. It is not holy like other trinities but rather evil and associated with death and despair.”

Saracen perked up and raised his hand like a student during a lesson. “I've got this! The three goddesses are Macha, Badbh and the Morrígan herself!” Smugly, he smiled at Dexter who only rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were twitching treacherously. Secretly, he loved how Saracen pulled facts out of his sleeve and presented them with that charming confidence of his.

“Quite right, Mr. Rue - “

“Saracen.”

“Mr. Rue. But also wrong. You see, legends are tricky like that. Someone might misunderstand the one or other detail when being told a magnificent story or alter it in their minds to their own liking before passing it on.” Noah was swivelling on his heels to look at all of them, a big radiant smile on his face and his eyes sparkled and shone. It truly was his field of expertise. “The legends surrounding the Morrígan are no different. Most enumerate the goddesses like you did. Others, however see the term Morrígan as a description for the trinity itself while the goddesses are Macha, Babh and Nemain.”

Dexter scratched his head. “Never heard of that last one before. Babh is the mother of battle, that's for sure. She prefers the form of an old crow, if I remember correctly and she circles the skies above the blood-stained field of the slain.”

“Correct. Babh is probably the most feared out of the three goddesses. Whenever and wherever she appeared amongst the warriors, fear and despair followed her like a foul stench. Battle-hardened warriors would toss their weapons aside and flee upon hearing Babh's scream thunder across the land”, Noah confirmed. His nose was still buried deep inside a massive volume and his eyes darted over the pages.

“Who is this Macha?” Lagrima asked curiously. Out of them all she knew the least about Irish mythology. She was pretty knowledgeable when it came to Roman or even Greek deities but these northern gods were pretty interesting as well.

Noah gave a small cry of excitement. “Ah, this is a tricky one. You see, Macha was not always a goddess of war and destruction. She was kind and warm-hearted and carried the title of goddess of fertility.”

“What changed her?”

“A man – as usual.” Noah hastily turned page upon page before discarding the book entirely, dropping it onto a free spot on the couch next to Saracen. The ginger rifled through the stack, picking a thinner hardcover and started reading.

Dexter narrowed his eyes. “Wasn't Macha the athletic one? She was known for being the fastest runner.”

“That is right”, Noah confirmed after a short moment of turning pages until he had found the right paragraph. “Macha was married to King Conchobar who managed to become the focus of his wife's wrath.” Noah shut the book and raised his index finger. “Ah, I remember! Legend says he would brag how she could outrun a horse and forced her to prove it in front of an audience while she was pregnant. Macha made the race but collapsed after the finish line. During her last moments, she gave birth to twins and her last breath carried the words to curse the men of Ireland.”

Lagrima grinned. She already liked Macha. “What was the curse?”

“Whenever the warriors of Eire faced battle and would have to rely on their strength the most they should be struck with the same pain and weakness a woman experiences once a month. Five days and four nights they would have to endure the agony.”

Lagrima snickered and a devilish smirk appeared on her face. “Fair is fair.”

Saracen blushed slightly. “Is it that bad?”

“Oh honey, you have no idea”, the girl gave him a sympathetic look before turning to Noah again. 

“What does Nemain do? Macha already is my favourite but I wonder if Nemain is even more badass.”

Dexter licked his lips, dying with curiosity as well. He had to admit, Noah was doing an extraordinary job feeding them the juiciest bits of the legends. It would have taken him and Saracen ages to file through all the books and pin down the information they needed.

The receptionist nodded, still completely transfixed by some paragraph he was reading. Absent-mindedly, be began reciting what he knew about the goddess.

“Nemain rules the hearts of the soldiers with an iron will. Legend says Cúchulainn, our well known Irish hero, once roared his battle cry towards the sky as motivation for his warriors. Nemain took is as a challenge and her answer was a scream so terrible, it drove a hundred warriors to their deaths. Either they died of fright right away or killed themselves because the gnawing terror was too much to bear.”

“I like her”, Lagrima concluded.

“I don't think the amulet belongs to the Morrígan, although it is certainly devoted to her”, the receptionist finally voiced his opinion.

“What do you mean? Rue says it belongs to her and he knows things”, Lagrima pointed out.

Saracen shook his head, a vertical crease forming on his brow. “No, no, he is right. It is meant to please the Morrígan, it does not directly belong to her.”

“A burial gift?” Dexter suggested and earned many an impressed 'ah' and 'oh'. “A mighty one”, he continued, not just a little smug over how his idea had been accepted. “Fit for a king or queen of old to accompany and protect them on their journey beyond.”

Noah shut the book and due to the lack of space he simply squeezed it under his arm and pulled a phone from his pocket. To his great dismay, he had not been allowed to study the amulet and had been forced to lock it away in the hotel's small safe. All that remained was a photo on which he now zoomed in by tapping the screen. “Hence the runes and the stone. The writing must be some sort of warding spell or a plea to the Morrígan to spare their souls. As for the blue gem: it looks like an eye, doesn't it? Eyes were considered pretty powerful and often used for amulets.”

Dexter frowned. “Wait a moment. If you say, it is meant to soothe the Morrígan's wrath, then the three silver tendrils each represent one of the goddesses. One to draw power from warriors – Babh. Her appearance on the battlefield had soldiers toss their weapons from them and flee in terror. Saracen's weapon is his magic.”

Lagrima's mouth formed a silent 'oh' and her eyes began to shine. “Assuming Macha is the one they want to please the most, one would appeal to her kindness: before she became all vengeance and a blood-thirsty war goddess. She would be the one to distribute power – giving Rue his magic back!”

“Wow”, Saracen commented. “As ridiculous as this sounds, it makes sense. And Nemain would be the one to kill you. That is brilliant!”

“Saracen, darling?”

The mage immediately picked up on the forced friendly tone and narrowed his eyes warily. “Yes?”

“This new theory tells me you had a fifty-fifty chance of surviving touching the amulet a second time.”

Saracen winced uneasily before giving his husband his sweetest smile. “Don't be mad?”

“Oh, I bloody hate you sometimes. Just be glad you are still alive or else there would be hell to pay”, Dexter grumbled good-naturedly. At this point it made no sense arguing about such a trifle. The past was in the past and what had happened could not be undone. Saracen was alive and well – more or less – and that was everything Dexter could ever wish for so he decided to drop the matter.

Noah was completely ignoring the mages and focused on his phone again. Intently, he stared at the photo of the silver piece of jewellery. “Burial gift … human key … burial gift, burial gift … oh!”

Attention shifted to the receptionist again. Expectantly, the sorcerers looked up to Noah standing in the midst of fallen magazines, a book clutched under his armpit, another in his hand while he stared at his phone.

Noah's brow furrowed as he tried to recall every single detail about Irish mythology he had ever read that would come in handy. Unfortunately, his parents had never bothered with entertaining their son by reading him books – not even picture books - or singing him songs, nor had Noah ever been told stories. Time had passed and he had started to make up his own little imaginary worlds, mingling them with bookish worlds he already knew. Sometimes it was difficult for him to tell reality and book world apart. Still, he voiced his theory.

“In Irish mythology the deceased would be given sacred objects, crafted to protect them on their way to the Otherworld and beyond those borders.”

“The Otherworld?” Saracen asked, scratching his head. “Is that not where the fairies live?”

Noah swallowed. “Uh, quite right. However, it is also where the dead begin their new or other life. The Otherworld is a beautiful place and horrifying at the very same time. What is fascinating about it, is that it is all around us. The two dimensions overlap perfectly just us lowly humans are unable to see it.”

Lagrima was kneeling on the armchair, a radiant and curious air about her and she had forgotten all about her hot chocolate with extra whipped cream Noah had prepared for her earlier.

“Things work different in the Otherworld. Time for example passes much faster. It is a place where diseases, illnesses and grief to not exist. Only bliss.”

“Sounds exhausting”, Dexter commented drily.

Noah nodded and began kneading his waistcoat once more. It was a clear sign that he was becoming more nervous. There had to be a catch with this paradisical realm of the Fairies.

“Everything is balanced in the Otherworld. Contradictions exist but they level themselves out. Nothing is a fix point, everything flows and changes shape, hence it is the land of infinite possibilities.” Noah took a deep breath. “Also, the Otherworld harbours the absolute truth.”

Stunned silence engulfed the mages and they stared at Noah almost with their mouths open. For a long moment, nobody said a word.

“Absolute truth”, Lagrima whispered. “Knowledge that has no bound. That is Mila's prize.”

Saracen winced as he hefted himself off the couch and took his cup of hot chocolate. “What are the chances, that if we give Corvo the amulet, she can hop over into the fairy- dimension and we could go home happily?”

Dexter snorted. “What do you think? Have we ever had it that easy? I bet there are at least four catches to this.”

“The Otherworld is not only full of Fairies but also witches, demons, ghosts, monsters and every garish creature of your worst nightmares”, Noah explained. His initial thrilling excitement at the possibility of displaying his knowledge and at figuring out this riddle, this mystery, had diminished to smouldering heap of ashes. Now he only listed the facts as though the uncovering of the truth had taken his fire away and replaced it with crawling fear. “Should Miss Corvo open a portal it would be two-way.”

“Catch number one”, Dexter remarked tiredly.

Noah smiled. “There is good news!”

“Hear, hear.”

“The walls that separate our world and the Otherworld are quite strong and nothing is able to travel the roads between. Even with the amulet, I believe it is highly impossible or at least extremely difficult to tear a hole into the walls. There is, however, an exception, namely the night of Samhain.”

“Wait, is that not Halloween?” Dexter asked, bewildered. “Oh, so, Halloween derives from this ancient believe? Children running around in costumes are impersonating the monsters of the Otherworld!”

Noah nodded. “Autumn ends on October 31st in the evening and the winter begins on November 1st. During that night, the walls fall completely and the creatures of the Otherworld can walk among men freely. I am not sure whether humans are able to cross into the Otherworld as well, though.”

“On what planet are those good news?” Saracen queried in disbelief.

“We have April. That should give us enough time to figure out how to destroy either Miss Corvo's plan or the amulet”, Noah said cheerily. “I am opting for throwing it in a volcano.”

Saracen sighed. “This is not the Lord of the Rings, Noah.”

“Still”, the receptionist insisted.

Lagrima leaped up, giving the men a start. “I know what she needs Rue for!” the girl exclaimed with an excited and proud laugh. “If a soul passes over, the walls between the dimensions become thinner or disappear entirely and by using the amulet, Mila could force the portal to remain open.”

Saracen stared. His expression was that of a man who was completely done. “Again with the human sacrifice?” he asked exasperated.

“No, it's a good theory”, Noah agreed with a determined nod, ignoring Saracen's shocked face. “Technically, she could use any mage or non-mage but I assume, the more powerful a sorcerer is, the more effective the procedure would be.”

“This I am taking as a compliment”, Saracen declared.

“Miss Corvo only needs the amulet”, Noah said. “It is the only thing of value to her in this particular situation.”

Dexter lay down on the couch, placed his feet on Saracen's lap and took out his phone and began typing.

“What are you doing, Dex?”

“I am looking up Samhain. This stuff is really interesting. And as I see it, we have got nothing else to do.”

Lagrima stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. She probably was making herself some more Nutella sandwiches she wouldn't share with anyone. The girl had an incredible sweet tooth.

Noah began stacking the books again, dangerously balancing them on one arm and carried them back to the shelf. “Now that we know what exactly our enemy has in mind, how do we stop her?”

Dexter shrugged. “We will have to wait for outside help, I guess. As soon as Ghastly has dealt with the catastrophe in the Sanctuary he will gladly send some aid.”

Lagrima returned with a plate full of Nutella sandwiches. “Noah, I hope you don't mind that I finished your Nutella. I will pay for it of course”, she added immediately when she realised it was probably rude to finish other people's food.

The receptionist turned to her with a surprised expression. “This was the biggest jar you can buy. It contains about a pound.”

“In my defence, it was already half-empty”, Lagrima mumbled and slouched into her armchair again, digging into her meal.

Dexter suddenly sighed wearily and put his phone away. “Noah, do you have any idea what Beltene is?”

“An Irish festival or something”, the receptionist answered while he put his books back on their respective place on the shelves.

“That it is”, Dexter continued and although he smiled, it was clear that what he was about to say were not good news at all. “On Beltene spring is seen off and summer welcomed. It is a seasonal festival. None of that is really important, though. What I am actually trying to say is, that on Beltene the freaking walls between the dimensions fall as well.”

Silence.

“Okay, okay, today is the 29th of April. When does this night occur?” Saracen immediately wanted to know.

“On the 30th.”

“What?!”, Ghastly almost shouted into the phone. The Grandmage was currently heading back to his office in the Sanctuary. His steps echoed off the walls of the corridor as he picked up speed.

“Dexter, please, tell me you are joking”, he pleaded.

“I wish I could, Ghastly. Believe me, I wouldn't have called again, were I not absolutely sure.”

The tailor groaned. “My problems just became insignificant compared to what you two have uncovered. Hang in there, I will see to it that you get back-up.”

Dexter closed his eyes, relieved. “Thank you”, he sighed.

“What's the situation? How much time do I have?”

“Not much, I fear. Currently, guards are only stationed outside the hotel, making sure we are staying put. Lagrima has conjured a powerful energy shield, so we should be safe for the moment”, Dexter said. “But Corvo needs that amulet badly and will make a move soon. That woman is ruthless and stops before nothing and nobody to get what she wants.”

Ghastly picked up on the minor changes in Dexter's voice. He had known the blond for centuries and learned to read him without Vex having to voice his thoughts. The fact that his tone had openly shown fear, put him on edge. “I'll see to it that I get Fletcher on it”, the Grandmage promised. “Oh, and the girl, Lagrima? I looked into her like you asked me to and the Italian Sanctuary just confirmed that she is indeed contracted with them as a Detective.”

Dexter smiled, some of the weight easing off his chest. “Good news are always welcome.”  
“Just stay alive until we get there. Where exactly are you anyway?”

Vex relayed the information and hung up.

Mila Corvo had left the restoration of order and discipline to Yedra and had retired to the peace and quiet of her office. She needed to recap the last few hours and decide on her next moves.

Rising from the chair, she began tidying up her desk; it helped her to free her mind of irrelevant thoughts and focus on what was important. One question in particular popped in her mind.

How could she have underestimated Rue and Vex? They were Dead Men and famous for their stubbornness and recklessness. Vex had killed two of her men: one in cold blood and the other she had been forced to discipline and execute as an example. Failures were not to be tolerated. 

While Mila had expected Vex to blunder right into the trap she had laid, it had come as a nasty surprise that her soldiers had been unable to apprehend him before he did any harm. Unfortunately, Vex had been a step ahead the entire time, the stolen radio having given him the advantage of predicting their every move. Clever. 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to capture Rue; it equalled a declaration of war to touch a member of the Dead Men. He had endured her strongest poisons and prevailed. Others had lost their minds from the sheer agony, yet the mage had still spat in her face defiantly. 

Corvo couldn't help but being impressed. If this was what two of them were able to do, she wondered what the suicide squad united was capable of.

But there was someone else she had underestimated: Lagrima, her old friend. Already two weeks ago, Corvo's spies had reported the girl to be snooping around town, trying to keep under the radar. At first, Mila had been on edge but when Lagrima had not made a move, she had relaxed. After all, the girl was not reckless and avoided taking risks in situations she knew she would lose. Lagrima acted when she was sure it was justified.

A loner, Mila thought. That's what she has always been. Insecure on the inside but carrying a tough demeanour on the outside.

With something resembling a nostalgic smile, Corvo thought back when she had discovered the white-haired malnourished girl who had been sleeping on an old jacket next to the trash outside her house. Neither sweet words nor smiles could have convinced the girl to come with her. It had taken her days to gain the girl's trust. Step by step. She would leave her food and warm clothes so she wouldn't freeze to death during the cold nights. She would sit on the steps leading to her house and tell fairy stories to the seemingly dark night but out of the corner of her eye she could see the dirty pale face of the small girl cowering behind the corner of the house, listening intently. Mila would never let her know she had noticed her but sometimes she could not suppress a smile.

Lagrima had been four when she had found a home with Corvo. It had been the ginger to teach her writing and reading, as well as magic. The afternoons they had spent in the sun-bathed library of the big Italian estate together had been filled with laughter.

But those days were gone, long lost in the past!

Corvo irately pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. Lagrima had betrayed her, she had stomped on the kindness she had shown her and spat in her face. The fronts were clear now and she would not make the same mistakes again. Softness had no place in this world.

While it was a shame that Rue had managed to escape, there was nothing she could do to alter it. He would have been perfect for her endeavour but one could not have everything. The overall situation wouldn't look so bleak had it not been for the amulet's theft.

Practical solutions was what she needed instead of whining about what had happened.

Beltene occurred in two day's time. Until then she had to have reclaimed the amulet if she wanted to achieve absolute truth. Her timeframe was closing rapidly and she recognised that capturing Rue had indeed been a mistake.

A mistake she intended to make right again and there was only one hurdle that separated her from her prize: giving the fact that only three mages had managed to take out all of her soldiers, she needed more men. But where to find them?

Corvo suddenly halted in her movements and a triumphant smile stretched across her face.

“I shall present you with a force you cannot possibly fight”, she announced to the empty room.

The morning had progressed fast with the mages and Noah discarding plan upon plan. Nothing they came up with was actionable and soon they had to acknowledge that they had to wait for outside help.

“I think we all need something to eat”, Noah finally announced and pushed up from the sofa. “Are sandwiches alright?”

“Sure”, Saracen said with a smile. “Need help?”

Noah shook his head and flattened his waistcoat which had begun to sport some wrinkles here and there. “You are my guests and therefore it is my duty to provide you with food and drink.” When he passed the window, however, something outside attracted his attention.

“Mr. Rue? Something is happening out there.”

Immediately the mages leaped up from the couches and approached the window. Outside, the soldiers guarding the hotel had at least tripled in number and there were still more filing in.

“Corvo doesn't take any chances, huh? She wants that amulet back badly”, Saracen said with a worried crease forming on his brow.

“Oh shit”, Lagrima breathed when she saw the rows of heavily armed men. “You know that rifles will hurt us, right? We don't have a single Elemental among us.”

Saracen shrugged non-chalantly. “As long as they don't aim for our heads, our clothes will protect us.”

“How reassuring”, Lagrima grumbled and shook her head.

“I should call Ghastly again. He should have been here by now”, Dexter announced and removed himself from the others, his phone already pressed to his ear.

Noah was kneading his waistcoat, wrinkling it even more. “Can this Mr. Ghastly fly?”

“No, why?”

“How could he have made it here so fast, then?”

Saracen smiled. “Oh, don't worry, we have a teleporter.”

“Who can't get through the shield”, Lagrima pointed out.

“Thanks, I wasn't going to tell him that.”

“Sorry.”

A little to the side, Dexter was doing his best to shut out the bickering and concentrate on his conversation.

“Yeah, they are gathering outside! Where are you?”

Ghastly sounded apologetic. “We can't get a hold of Fletcher. He and Val had a row and now he is sulking and nowhere to be found. I am doing my best here.”

“You telling me I get to die because our only teleporter is sulking?!”

Ghastly could hear Saracen's agitated voice in the background but was unable to make out the words. 

“Hold on”, Dexter said into the phone and joined his friends in front of the window. “What is it?”

“Look”, Saracen said silently.

When Dexter glanced outside, his stomach flipped uncomfortably. The soldiers carrying rifles just had become the least of their problems for a different kind of forces had begun to arrive. Row upon row they formed, ever more filing in and joining the crowd. They stood silent, like statues, patiently awaiting orders. Bluish-purplish runes ran down on both sides of their necks and disappeared beneath their collars. Blank, empty faces stared at them.

Trembling, Dexter held the phone to his ear and swallowed. “Ghastly?”

“Yes? What's going on?”

“We need you right now. This is an army we cannot fight”, he whispered, eyes still fixed on the crowds outside.

“What? What do you mean? Dexter?”

But Dexter didn't answer. He had spotted Corvo strolling confidently through the rows of fighters. When she noticed them standing at the window, she gave them a cold smile and a wink.

“What is she doing?” Noah was close to panicking.

Saracen went wide-eyed when Corvo crouched down just a foot from where the energy shield touched the ground and started drawing runes on the tar. “She is taking the shield down!”

“Impossible!” Lagrima breathed, the shock clear on her face.

Saracen's expression changed from surprise to determination in a matter of seconds. “Lagrima, fortify that damn shield. Add defensive layers. Every spell you can think of. Go! If they manage to get in here, we are done for.”

The girl clenched her teeth and nodded. “Aye, Sir.”

“Dexter! Talk to me!” Ghastly's voice was muffled through the speaker of the phone, reminding Dexter that he was actually having a conversation.

“Get your ass out here! If you don't you can come collect our corpses”, Dexter hissed before hanging up.

Grandmage Bespoke stared incredulously at the beeping phone in his hand. An unfightable army?   
He leapt out of his chair and in two steps had covered the distance between his desk and the door and wrenched it open. Stepping out into the narrow grew corridor he looked down both sides. Nobody was to be seen.

“ERSKINE!” Ghastly shouted and manipulated the air to ripple through the entire Sanctuary. He had no idea where his fellow Elder was and hoped to find him more quickly like that. “GRANDMAGE'S OFFICE! NOW!”

The door next to Ghastly's room opened and Ravel stumbled out, hands covering his ears. His face was crunched up in pain.

“Could've knocked”, he groaned.

“Tell Madam Mist she is in charge and supposed to deal with this damn Zombie-outbreak. Then call Skulduggery and tell him to get his bony ass here in ten minutes.”

“What is happening?” Erskine asked but whipped out his phone all the same, starting to press buttons.

“Dexter and Saracen are in deep trouble. I'll explain on the way.”

“Are we talking National? I mean – oh, Skul. Ghastly wants you and Val here on the double. Bring weapons, we are going to brawl.”

Ghastly gave a mirthless laugh. “Keep dreaming. We don't stop this, the world will end – probably.” He turned and began hastening down the corridor.

“Right. See you in ten.” Erskine hung up. “I am going to find Mist”, he called after his friend. “Always with the end of the world. How about a picnic for a change?” he sighed.

Ghastly dialled a number on his phone, hoping, imploring the man to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Anton, I need your help.”


	9. Chapter 9

Noah was clueless as to how the situation could have spiralled out of control the way it had. Around him the mages were bustling and hastening, dragging bags and equipment into the lobby, preparing themselves to defend the hotel. They had gone into full battle-mode already, not minding Noah sitting silently and all too stiffly on one of the couches. Thoughts were swirling inside his head like autumn leaves on a windy day and he realised he was scared.

“Noah?”

It took the receptionist a few seconds to gather himself and focus on the person stooping over him.  
Dexter was grabbing his shoulder, looking concerned. “Noah, go upstairs and find a spot to hide. We have it covered.”

Noah blinked. “They …”

“You have my word that we will not hurt them. Our main objective is to strengthen the energy shield and to keep them out.”

“I – how could she?”, Noah finally whispered.

“Look, I know you are upset. It is a breaking of the law and she will be held responsible for her actions but right now, we need to make sure we stay alive long enough to make her pay.”

“How could she use children?!”  
Dexter cringed. “More like teens. They look older than fourteen.”

“That's not the point! She mind-controls ordinary, non-magical teenagers and will order them to kill!”

The mage grabbed Noah's shoulder. “Listen to me. Those kids have no idea what is happening to them. We will work out a way to break the connection and when they wake up they will wonder how they came to be here. They won't remember a thing and none of use are willing to hurt them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Blondie! Get a move on! We need you here”, Lagrima shouted across the lobby. She was in the process of drawing a big glyph on the wall just next to the reception desk. Using a black sharpie.

Noah stared.

“Sorry about the wall”, Vex smiled apologetically. “We will pay for it, of course. Go and hide.”

“Dex!”  
Dexter turned in time to see Saracen chuck a sharpie at him. Catching it, he gave Noah one last encouraging pat on the shoulder and straightened up.

“Take that wall. I got the front. Lagrima will take the back and west”, Saracen ordered and when he passed Dexter, he stopped for a quick kiss. More of a peck, really. “Don't die on me, Dex.”

“How far has Mila come with the dismantling of the shield?” Lagrima queried, unable to sneak a peak out of one of the windows in her position at the far end of the lobby.

“In any case too far”, Dexter answered from where he was kneeling. The east wall was entirely covered by bookshelves which made it impossible for him to accurately draw a warding sigil. And he had a hunch that despite the danger lurking outside, Noah would be the bigger problem if he dared to smear sharpie on his beloved books. Instead, he had chosen to honour the pretty carpet with a new ornament. The moment he was done, the black lines started to become blurred before beginning to slowly fade again. “Definitely too far”, he called. “The sigils won't hold unless we keep tracing the lines again and again. You know, these shields are supposed to ward against magic and yet, they are pretty easy to take down if you have the right kind of adept power.”

Lagrima had chosen a corner for the glyphs she was responsible for. Though being on different walls, she had made sure to draw them as close together as possible without damaging their protective effect. Judging by the speed with which Mila was dissolving the warding symbols, she would have to be quick. Sweat was already beading on her brow and her hand flew over the walls, making sure neither sigil completely broke.

“I can help.”  
When Noah appeared next to her, she didn't even hesitate and pushed a red sharpie in his hand. “Redraw the lines as soon as they start to fade.”

Suddenly, Saracen laughed.

“What's so funny?” Dexter frowned, his jaw a hard line.

“I just never thought I would ever find myself in a situation where I would be drawing for my life.”

Dexter huffed at this, amused and shook his head.

Lagrima snickered. “I hope you all practised in kindergarten.”

“We didn't have kindergartens back then”, Saracen declared, fighting to keep a straight face. “We were raised as true men. Hard men. You know, tossed into the wilderness to defeat dangerous animals at the age of three and such. Sent to survive the cold and frost of winter, being only granted a thin hide to wrap ourselves into.”

“By dangerous animals you mean rabbits?” Noah joked weakly. He was still shaken and terrified to the bones of what was happening, what had become of his life but what had Lagrima explained before?

Humour takes the fear away?

If the key to the salvation of his sanity was to make witty remarks, then so be it. No matter how ridiculous and inappropriate it seemed to make fun at a time like this, he would try it. And, didn't he feel some of the pressure and weight be taken off of him?

The mages stared at Noah for a few moments in incredulous silence. He was about to nervously apologize for overstepping some boundary he had not even known was there, when Dexter laughed.   
The clear sound bubbled from his lips and somehow, the situation was much more tolerable all of a sudden, and Noah allowed himself a thin smile.

“Quick on the uptake”, Lagrima grinned. “Glad to have you.”

Saracen opened the front door and since he had drawn the sigil on the wood, he could both step outside and have a look and still fortify the shield.

“What news from the front?” Dexter called.

“Bleak ones, Sire!” Saracen answered. “About thirty to forty heavily armed soldiers are currently taking positions on the main road, while Corvo keeps working on taking the energy shield down. It seems, however, that she seems to have spent a lot of her magic power: she is rather pale and the shadows beneath her eyes are visible from up here. If we are lucky, she won't be in the position to conjure her damn inky friends.”

“That you call bad news?” Noah asked, bewildered. “It seems rather mediocre than bleak.”

Dexter huffed. “Keep dreaming, the both of you. We are never that lucky. And have you forgotten about the Unfightable? Good name, right?”

“Meh, so-so. They are standing like statues, doing nothing”, Saracen described what he was seeing outside. “Should be about fifteen of them.”

“This is madness!” Lagrima exclaimed agitated and a curse escaped her when her sharpie ran out and she darted to retrieve a new one. “Mila is attacking us in broad daylight, without taking the necessary precautions to conceal her or our presence from the eyes of the ordinary folk.”

“I am afraid, she is beyond caring”, Noah said dryly.

Saracen waved his hand dismissively. “Granted, there will be a lot of work for our memory alteration specialists but at the moment that is not our top priority. What good can we do when we are dead and Corvo opens the portal?”

Noah looked over his shoulder to shoot them an irritated glance.

“Darling, this is why Ghastly takes over the motivational part when dealing with civilians. You are almost as bad as Skulduggery.”

Saracen gasped in mock theatric. “I take offence in that statement!”

“Noted.”

“At least I try to be soothing. Do you remember that time when we were captured by those Russian gangsters who had unfortunately also caught some ordinary folk?”

Dexter laughed. “What a disaster.”

“I am curious, though. What happened?” Lagrima asked.

Vex continued. “You see, Skulduggery Pleasant, the leader of the Dead Men and our First Lieutenant has a spectacular lack of tact. He does not even realize that he is being incredibly rude; it's just the way he is. So, he tried to calm the civilians captured along with us.

“He told them that it did not matter whether they cried or not because they would all surely be killed since nobody spoke Russian. That due to the lack of conversational possibilities we were all going to die.”

Noah stared. “Why not try English?”

Saracen coughed, clearly embarrassed. “We … eventually tried that and it turned out to be a huge misunderstanding and the Russians were after the Australians. They released us and invited us to have dinner with them.”

“Completely bonkers. The lot of you”, Lagrima mumbled.

“Saracen, honey, anything changed?”

“Nope.”

Lagrima quickly looked over her shoulder. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

Dexter raised his head and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Are you two an item?”

The blond actually laughed. “Married for two centuries, why?”

Lagrima grinned cheekishly. “Just curious. Sweet!”

“Huh, she thinks it's sweet”, Saracen said and was about to shoot a question concerning possible love interests back at her when the earth suddenly rumbled and he was thrown of balance. “What the-”

The others abandoned their posts and joined the mage at the front door, peeking outside. What they saw, made not just Noah's jaw drop. Too incredulous and awesome was the scene unfolding before them. Even their besiegers had stopped to gape.

About thirty meters down the road, the ground had split open and revealed a massive hole in the earth. Cracks and crevices in the tar snaked away from the blackness of the abyss and a dustcloud hung over the area. Then the ground groaned again and a building grew out of the earth. Or rather the single components of a building: bricks piled on bricks, beams shot up, a façade drew itself up over the naked brickwork and wrapped around the building. Roof tiles layered themselves over the wooden structure and glass flowed into their respective frames. The three-floor building grew and set itself together until it finally came to a shuddering halt. Just above the main entrance – beautifully crafted wooden double doors – thick black old-fashioned letters were set against the lighter façade of the building.

Midnight Hotel.

“Split and form a firing line! Get in position!” Corvo did not lose any time. She was well aware of the identity of the owner of the Hotel and he probably had not come alone. “Wait for them to make the first move! Nobody fires lest it be on my command!”

Immediately, the soldiers and controlled teenagers split in two groups, each facing one of the hotels. The Italian frowned. She had not thought aid for the besieged would come so quickly and she was more than likely not going to prevail for long in a two-front skirmish. But there was no way she would be giving up so close to reaching her long-desired goal.

“In there is the cavalry?” Noah asked, mightily impressed and overall excited.  
Saracen nodded, proudly. “Aye.”

Over at the Midnight Hotel, the doors opened and four men filed out into the sun and onto the steps leading down to the split road. They made sure not to overstep the invisible border of the hotel's protective shield when they looked around.

“No cloaking sphere?” Ghastly commented. “First law broken. What else? Unauthorized gathering of armed forces against a mortal – and some dorks who call themselves mages. That makes two. And what – children?!” the mage fumed. “She forced non sorcerer children under her control? Mila Corvo! By my authority as Grand Mage of the Irish Sanctuary I arrest you! You are under arrest for … kidnapping and misuse of magical … magic! Your crime shall not remain unavenged!”

Ravel swiped out his phone and started taking pictures of both the small army and the main road, as well as the surrounding houses and buildings. “I will send them to Val, so when she finally gets a hold of Fletcher, he can use them to find us here. Smile, Anton!”

“Get off!” Shudder grumbled and shoved at Erskine's arm holding the phone in his face. He produced a round object from his pocket and turned the two halves of the Cloaking Sphere in different directions. Immediately, a bubble stretched over the hotel and across the street, swallowing every last bit of magical activity. “Ah, much better.”

“Look, it's Dexter and Saracen”, Skulduggery said and waved at his friends, who whooped at their arrival and waved back excitedly. The white-haired girl and the young man standing next to them didn't show as much joy, though. Pity, after such a spectacular entrée.

The reason for Noah's lack of any reaction whatsoever was easy to explain. To the receptionist, the arrival of the Dead Men looked a bit like this: 

a man with horrible scars running down his face and the build of a pro boxer was shouting nonsense abuse at Corvo. He was heavily armed with a sword? and … well, nothing else apart from his brawn.

The man next to him was in his thirties and had taken out a phone and was snapping panorama pictures of the town while also goofing around with his friend. Apart from a sword – what was it with these things? – he seemed to be unarmed.

The man the photographer had been teasing wore a nice suit, which in Noah's opinion was not what you would wear if you went to battle. He had a ball in his hand, turning the two halves in opposite directions which did exactly … nothing. Was it a crystal ball? Was the man a fortuneteller? Soothsayer?

It was the last man, however, who claimed Noah's attention. Sharply dressed in a suit, the man had sauntered down the steps, with two revolvers – finally a real weapon! – at his hips in a weirdly awesome crossover between western and dandy. The most intriguing thing about the man was not the hat which was set at a rakish angle on his head – it was the head it was on. The man wore a skull-mask!

And the most frustrating point on Noah's list of why he was more than a little worried about the newcomers: it was only four of them.

“Cazzo, che spettacolo¹”, Lagrima mumbled, falling back into her mother tongue. To her, the Dead Men meant more ridiculous people with zero sense of self-preservation or any sense of preservation of the town. She had both heard stories and read reports from Italian mages who had been assigned to work with either of them. Chaos everywhere. Granted, they would probably end up saving everyone but at what cost?

“Uh, Mr. Rue?”

“Saracen.”

“Mr. Rue, why are they just in four?”  
Lagrima huffed. “Don't worry, Noah. If you had seen Rue and Vex in a fight you would know that four more of these madmen are enough to defeat an entire army – with their eyes closed.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t sound too convinced.

“I will call Ghastly” Vex said. “Let's see if we can work out some plan.”

The tailor picked up immediately. “Dexter? What's your situation?”

“There is no way for us to leave the hotel. Corvo uses ink to dissolve our shield and we have to keep tracing the warding sigils. Not much we can do, to be honest, which is why we were counting on you.”

Ghastly sighed, tired already. “Just like old times. Does any of you even have a germ of an idea?”

“You attack and we keep heroically guarding the amulet with our lives.”

“I mean the children.”

“Oh … no.”

Lagrima began to impatiently hop from one foot to the other. “I have a suggestion but you probably won't like it.”

“Eh, Ghastly, send Skulduggery over, we need him for an important decision. Lagrima has a plan. And make sure we are not disturbed until I call you back.” Dexter walked to one of the warding sigils and scratched at the paint until only the thinnest of lines connected the different shapes. As soon as Skulduggery was bound to hit the shield he would sever that last tendril of paint and immediately redraw it once their friend was through.

The tailor shrugged and hung up. “Skulduggery, you are asked for.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just fly over.” There was a short pause in which the skeleton seemed to wait for something. “We will naturally cover you as you do so.”

Skulduggery shook his head and sighed before ascending slowly. He gained ever more hight until he was probably out of firing range; at least he hoped so. He then changed course and began flying towards the hotel which Saracen, Dexter and Lagrima had already vanished inside in. On the threshold they had left a young ginger man behind who looked at him in astonished awe. When the mage landed, he stretched out his gloved hand.

“Skulduggery Pleasant, at your service.”

Noah stared wide-eyed: the sorcerer before him wore no mask but had in fact a skull for a head. Between the rim of the sleeve and the elegant glove Noah saw more of the skeletal white flashing for a brief moment. He was still gaping when he realized that gawking was probably rude and that walking and flying skeletons were surely no rarity in the magical world. Blushing, he took the hand and shook it. “Noah.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Noah. I have heard a great deal about you.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Skul, stop irritating Noah and get over here”, Dexter called from where he was sitting comfortably in an armchair. Saracen was standing next to him and the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“I never irritate people.”

“You wish.”

Lagrima came blustering down the stairs, carrying a large bag. She had decided that it was better to have her effects close by after she teamed up with Saracen and Dexter. Noah had allowed her to use one of the rooms.

“Ah, Mr. Pleasant. Good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Skulduggery tilted his head to the side. “Aren’t you-”

“Born in 1821? Yes, that’s right! How did you know that?”, Lagrima cut him off before the detective could ask that one question she was always forced to answer when meeting new people.

Lagrima zipped her bag open and upended it. Pieces of metal that looked like they could belong to a rifle fell out and tumbled across the sofa. Quickly, the girl moved to assemble the weapon. “So, as to my idea. I am in the possession of a, let's call it, a magic-sensitive weapon and I am very good with it. My plan is to shoot the hostages with a magical bullet charged with the slightest of electricity to kind of shock them out of their trance.”

The men gaped at her, speechless.

Skulduggery was the first to find his words. “You want to shoot them? Sorry, but a mercy killing is not what we are aiming for … no pun intended.”

Lagrima shook her head. “No, you don't understand. This weapon does not require real bullets made of metal like your revolvers do. It only works with magic. Specifically, it fires a bullet made of the power of the mage handling it. With me, for example, the bullets consist of electricity because my Adept-power is electricity.”

“But a bullet of this calibre would still kill them”, Saracen pointed out. Impressed, he had watched the girl assemble the rifle in less than thirty seconds.

“Not if I don't want it. You see, the weapon is magic-sensitive. It is up to me to decide how powerful each bullet becomes by using more or less magic. Let me show you.” Lagrima took the rifle, set it against her shoulder and aimed it at Dexter who involuntarily stepped back with a grimace. Before he could react, the white-haired had pulled the trigger and a small ball of frizzling electricity thudded against his cheek and narrow jagged bluish threads darted over his skin, disintegrating after a few seconds.

“Ouch.” Dexter raised his hand to his face and rubbed the skin where the bullet had hit him. “Wow, that … didn't hurt much. It was more the shock of suddenly being shot at than actual pain. Tingly, though.”

With a grin, Lagrima lowered the rifle. “What do you say?”

Skulduggery inclined his head. “You are one crazy girl, you know that? Kind of reminds me of myself in the old days. Not that I think myself a girl, though. I meant the crazy part. But the possibility that I used to be a girl or at least was highly convinced at one point to be a girl is surprisingly big. Anyway, let's do this. Lagrima, find yourself a sniper's position inside the hotel. Wait for my signal. Keep an eye out for Corvo as well; if she tries to give us the slip, let us know. Saracen, Dexter, you are without any weapons but your fists and tiny knives. Your job will be to both protect the hotel and bring the shot children in here.”

The mages nodded.

“Noah, can you take care of fifteen hopefully unconscious teenagers?”

“I … I guess so”, Noah stuttered, not having expected to be considered valuable or magic-y enough to be helping in the plan.

Skulduggery placed a hand on the receptionist's shoulder. “Whatever you do, don't let them leave your hotel, understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good man.” Skulduggery took out his phone. “Ghastly, I will meet you outside. Leave the children to Saracen, Dexter and Lagrima. Our concern are the soldiers. We will take them out and beat Corvo.”

“Sounds easy. Almost too easy if you ask me. Your plans never work out that easily.”

The skeleton huffed, offended. “My plans are perfectly workable!” He hung up.

“Any questions?”

“How are we supposed to walk in and out of our own energy shield if I may ask?” Dexter wanted to know. “I mean, out is no problem but getting back inside with another person might be impossible.

“There is a way”, Saracen said seriously. “It’s risky, though.”

“What?”

“We can link the shield to ourselves, taking full control over it.”

Dexter grimaced. “This would also mean, that we would have to support the shield with our magic. If we are forced to fight outside we won’t be able to call on our powers or else the energy will be drained from the shield. It also means, that if we die, the whole game is over.”

“There is nothing else we can do.”

“I hate out odds.”

Skulduggery clapped his hands. “Grand. Anything else?”

Lagrima held up her hand. “Uh, yeah. I am supposed to wait for your signal. What signal?”  
“You'll know it when you see it.”

The girl raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She grabbed her rifle and hastened towards the stairs to find a room on the first floor which faced both the front and one side of the hotel. A balcony would be preferable.

When she finally set up her sniper's nest on a balcony which thankfully had bars so she could shoot crouchedly, she was able see the Dead Men get into position on the street below. Instead of taking Corvo between them and making her fight on two fronts, they had managed to flock together and form a meagre line of four men standing in the middle of the road. Imposing men but still only four. Vex and Rue were a bit further off to the side, closer to the hotel but also closer to the menacing formation of the enemy forces; waiting for the first teen to fall. This was beyond mad. This was suicide! And probably right up the Dead Men's street.

“Tutti pazzi²”, she mumbled. Suddenly, she snickered. She was about to shoot a bunch of children with magical bullets made of electricity to save them. That made her no less pazza. Lagrima adjusted the position of the butt of the rifle against her shoulder and pressed her cheek against the cold metal of the weapon. Peeking through the scope, she swivelled until she had the Dead Men in her sights. So far they were simply standing in the street, staring down the overwhelming numbers of the enemy.

“Hey Anton! Any chance that inside the Midnight Hotel there are some of your guests willing to lend a hand?” Dexter called hopefully. According to him, they really could use all the help they could get.

Shudder shook his head. “Only two guests have checked in yesterday and I am afraid they headed out very early today. I left them a note.”

“A note? Saying what? 'Sorry for leaving you in the middle of nowhere while I took the hotel for a walk'?”

“As far as I recall it, I had to come save your ass”, Anton replied calmly.  
Dexter nodded. “And I am very grateful for that.”

“I really don't mean to interrupt but as we idly chat away, our enemy tries to get behind us. There are already several armed subjects closing in on us from this alley and that building”, Saracen informed his friends calmly, pointing in the respective directions.

Skulduggery nodded. “Right. Anton, take care of those approaching from the alley. I will deal with the soldiers on the roof. The rest of you, just … attack frontally.” The detective began running towards the indicated building and manipulate the air beneath him to jump straight to the roof.

“I guess, we should get going”, Erskine said and drew his sword. Ghastly nodded, mimicking the motion.  
Mila Corvo had patiently observed her adversary and come up with dozens of plans which she had all but one discarded. If she wanted to achieve her goal, she was forced to use her soldiers as a decoy and sneak to the rim of the energy shield again and finally take it down. There was nobody guarding the hotel at the moment and Lagrima and that mortal alone had no way of fortifying the shield on their own. Besides, the girl had taken a sniper's position on one of the balconies, which left the mortal. And he stood no chance against a sorceress. However, Lagrima surely had orders to inform the Dead Men if she left the scene. Try as they might, they would not be able to follow her, not with a small army of ferocious children attempting to rip their throats out.

“Take them head-on! Don't let them through! Don't be fooled by their number! Form a firing line behind the children!” Corvo ordered courtly, watching Bespoke and Ravel advance with swords drawn. “If they want to reach us, they have to go through them!”

The ginger pulled a cellphone from her pocket and dialled a number.

“Yes?”

“Yedra, I want you here with me as my personal bodyguard. Ciardha and Drawn are to head to the back of the building and destroy the energy shield. It shouldn’t take them long. The Mortal is alone and unprotected. Bring the amulet to a safe location and contact me immediately. Take the Mortal as well, we might be needing him.”

“Roger that. How is the situation right now?”

Corvo smiled. “Nothing to worry about. I have it all under control. Quite literally.” Finishing the call, she waved her hand and the teenagers started walking. As opposed to common belief, people controlled by another person did not move with the agility of brain-dead zombies. Their movements were fluid and they were equipped with a strong natural sense of self-preservation allowing them to evade attacks, duck, sprint or jump. In other words, their bodies moved on their own while the mind was set on destroying the enemy.

Children and young adults up to the age of seventeen possessed the most agile bodies. Adult men or women would be slightly stiffer in their movements due to their age. This had been the reason for her to use children and push sticks, knives and baseball bats into their hands – oh, and obviously for the psychological effect: after all, who could hurt a kid, albeit armed?

ooOoOoo

Skulduggery landed on the roof, spotting his adversaries immediately. Three armed men in combat gear, who brought up their rifles and fired at the skeleton and to Skulduggery's surprise, they were not spooked at all when faced with a walking dead. Were they that unquestioning? Or was it rather …

Skulduggery stretched out his hand, palm facing forward and manipulated the air, ordering the molecules to shift and overlap until he had a sturdy air shield catching the bullets. All this had happened in a split-second. He drew one of his revolvers and fired.

The bullets whizzed past the first man, who had somehow managed to avoid being hit and were swallowed by the shadows the second one had commanded. So Skulduggery's guess had been correct: these soldiers were mages after all and with that their odds had suddenly worsened.

Lagrima waited while trying to keep track of Pleasant in her scope. Every one of his moves could be the signal. Him firing his revolver? Him starting to run and thus opening the battle? Him roasting a soldier? The continuous stream of fire which completely missed its target? Which one was it? Perhaps he had forgotten about her?

“Fuck this, he is not my boss”, Lagrima grumbled and swivelled on the balls of her feet, adjusting the rifle once more.

Her first target was an about sixteen year old girl who looked like she could take it if the mage misjudged the power of the first bullet. She had muscled legs and arms and wore the broad trademark shoulders of a swimmer. Her black pony-tail whipped behind her as she went to stab Bespoke, who evaded her attack and pushed the knife aside with his sword. The swimmer moved in again, feinted low with the hand holding the knife and delivered a vicious round-house kick to Bespoke’s stomach. The tailor staggered back, bringing his sword up to block a quick succession of stabs and jabs. These kids could fight!

Lagrima closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated. The weapon in her hand was charged. All she had to do was select a portion of her magic, aim and pull the trigger. Perhaps she had overestimated herself; shooting adult men and women was different. There she was absolutely certain how to dip the bullets but children had a different metabolism, everything was still in growth and was more easily damaged. Additionally, these were ordinary children with no traces of magic in their veins. The first shot would be a total risk. After she knew how the swimmer reacted, she could calculate and adjust the bullets for the other kids.

The girl snapped her eyes open on exhalation and pulled the trigger.

Saracen and Dexter saw the girl who had attacked Ghastly drop, her limbs going limp and she fell to her hands and knees. She shook her head as if to get rid of something. Quickly, the mages hastened over and while Saracen was covering him, Dexter helped the girl to her feet again and almost dragged her back inside the shield. Only then they checked whether it had worked.

The girl was pale and she looked as though she had just broken the surface of a dark pond and finally seen the light of the sun again. The runes on her neck were gone. Bewildered, she stared at Saracen and Dexter and immediately tried to get away from them. She felt tired and drowsy. Had they drugged her?!”

“Let go of me!”

Dexter removed his hand from her arm as though he had just been burned and stepped back. “We won't hurt you. We are here to help.”

“Why am I holding a knife?” The girl asked in a panicked voice and let if clatter to the ground.

“Noah! Your responsibility!”

As soon as Noah appeared, the girl ran towards him. “Mr. O'Callaghan, what is going on?”

Dexter and Saracen left the swimmer in the receptionist's care and headed outside the shield again.  
Lagrima had watched the entire process of the bullet hitting and the girl being brought into the hotel safely. “Lagrima, as usual, fortune favours fools”, she muttered. “They don't even need to be unconscious. Shocking the spell off of them is more than enough.”

ooOoOoo

Anton cried out in pain as a boy kicked him in the leg and brought his baseball bat down on his ribs. The armoured suit saved him from breaking anything and although the impact was cushioned, he still felt the pain radiating from his chest. Instinctively, he brought his arms up to shield himself from a hail of bullets, allowing the youth to repeatedly and painfully beat him. Grinding his teeth, Anton endured the pain while inching backwards. Shudder dove behind a car parked along the road, pressing his back against the cold metal. The frame rattled as the bullets riddled the vehicle but Anton could not care less. How was he supposed to deal with the teen? Could he risk delivering a punch to the temple in order to knock him out? It was just a kid! Make up your mind quickly! Anton knew, he had fractions of a second to come to a decision before the kid would be rounding the car – and walk straight into the crossfire.

“Damn!”

Shudder had already leaped up before he had finished cursing, oblivious to the bullets whizzing past him. Deflecting the bat aiming for his head with his arm, he grabbed the teen around his waist, pulling him close enough to prevent any further attacks. Anton turned and dragged the boy behind the car, taking them both to the ground. The youth kicked and writhed in his grab and Anton made a decision. Readjusting his hold, he brought his arm around and pressed it against the boy’s mouth, pinching his nose at the same time.

I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry,’ Anton chanted in his head while the boy thrashed in his fight for oxygen. Only when he went limp in his arms, Anton carefully let go of the boy, immediately checking for vitals. Relieved, the Dead Man ascertained that the teen was still breathing. He was just unconscious.

Anton risked a peek over the hood of the car and noticed that the soldiers had not moved much. Instead of hunting each of the Dead Men down, they had remained in some sort of loose protective formation in front of Corvo. She was either being incredibly cautious or might be trying to give them the slip. Staying close to their boss, the soldiers were taking turns at firing at their enemies.

“Dexter!” The blond glanced around to determine from where the shout had come from and went to cross the battlefield in a crouched run when he spotted Anton behind the car.

“What is it?”

“Take the kid.”

Dexter looked down at the unconscious boy. “What happened?”

“I had to take him down or else the soldiers would have blown him to pieces.”

Jaw tight, Vex carefully studied his surroundings. “Okay, I got this. Cover me.”

ooOoOoo

Child after child fell and was brought to the relative safety inside Noah’s hotel. Whenever Saracen and Dexter were busy, the girl would switch to shooting soldiers – with much more fatal bullets. However, the constant use of the magic-draining rifle put a toll on the girl, especially kill shots and she began to feel heavy and slow. This weapon had not been designed for combat, it served the purpose of eliminating one target and then for the assassin to disappear. Lagrima drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to focus. “Soltanto sei … ancora sei.³”

Skulduggery had already fired all of his bullets and to his great dismay, just one out of the twelve had hit. To be fair, his adversaries had been formidable combatants and highly trained mages. The ones on the roof he had – with much skill and expertise – taken care of easily. From his position he was able to see Dexter and Saracen working relentlessly to save the children. Vex covered his husband while Saracen picked up kid after kid and more or less shoved them inside the energy shield where they were received by Noah who expertly guided them into the hotel.

‘Curious, this man’, Skulduggery thought as he watched the determined expression on the hotelier’s face. ‘There will be much to discuss when this is all over. He seems like a truly remarkable person.’

Ghastly, Erskine and Anton on the other hand, did not fare so well. Even though only six, no five children were left, they were under heavy fire. The two Elementals had conjured strong walls of air to keep the bullet-rain from tearing them to pieces and were apparently discussing their next moves. All the while, Anton had been picking up knives and hurled them at the soldiers. Hitting one or two but he didn’t even dent the formation. They needed a plan, and quick!

Skulduggery left his meagre cover in a house entrance and shielding himself, he zig-zagged over to where his friends cowered.

“We need another tactic!” Erskine shouted over the spluttering noise of rifle fire. “This is not working!”

“Pointing out the obvious won’t help”, Anton remarked dryly.

Saracen sprinted past. “I need cover!” he commanded, not waiting whether his order would be carried out but trusting his friends to have his back.

Erskine sprung into action without questioning and solidified the air around Saracen who picked up a young boy and took a bewildered girl by the hand. The Elemental extended the shield around them and accompanied the trio back to the hotel.

Overlooking the battle or rather the one-sided violence aimed at the Dead Men, Lagrima brought her cheek to the rifle again and pulled the trigger several times in a fast succession.

Anton Shudder raised his eyebrows in surprise as in the timespan of half a second, the last two children who had decided to besiege him, fell to their knees, daggers and a stick tumbling to the ground. In the other half second, three soldiers went to the ground screaming. Shudder had not seen them sneak up on him, having focused on the kids. He offered a thankful nod towards Lagrima and finally made good use of his axe as he covered the last meters towards the first soldiers. He knew he didn’t have to look behind him to know that his friends would take care of the kids.

Skulduggery and Ghastly were at his side, pushing solidified air before them to prevent being hit by any stray or not so stray bullets. Shadows lashed out at them and fireballs flew their way. Elegantly, the Dead Men evaded the attacks, pushing aside shades and deflecting fireballs with their swords.

It was rumoured that the Dead Men engaged in battle gracefully and fought astonishingly stylish, even though nobody was entirely sure how a brawl could ever be called stylish. However, if by stylish those people who had had the doubtful honour of witnessing the suicide squad in action meant jabbing at eyes, poking at ribs and using every dirty move known to mankind, then yes, the Dead Men should be awarded for the most stylishly delivered battles.

Anton was the first to land a swing with his axe, quickly followed by a ferocious kick to a soldier’s ribcage, knocking him into the man behind him, who consequently was forced to lower his gun. This was the moment when Skulduggery pushed against the air and knocked the soldier right over.

To his right, Ghastly had breached the enemy line as well and was currently dealing fatal blows to the left and right. His sword was already stained with blood. Hopeless as it may seem, they still had a chance.

Suddenly, Saracen cried out and staggered, his knees buckling dangerously beneath him. Ravel immediately was at his side. “This is bad. Someone is attacking the hotel’s energy shield with far more force than anticipated”, he gasped. The mage stumbled on and released the children into the now endangered safety. Two more to go.

Lagrima fell back against the wall of the hotel, chest heaving. Pearls of sweat were running down her face and she felt like she had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. Staring up at the cloud-speckled sky, she let the rifle clatter to the tiles of the balcony and focused on breathing steadily. ‘No, no, no! Get up, Lagrima. You need to head out there and help them. You need to fight. But if I walk out in this condition, I will die within the first three minutes if not sooner. If I am able to walk, that is.’

Grabbing the ledge of the window above her head, the girl pulled herself to her feet, leaning with her back against the wall lest she fall to the floor again. Damn, she had overestimated herself. ‘Five minutes and some chocolate. That’s what I need’, she mumbled but then a frown creased her brow. What was that? Lagrima grasped the railing, knuckles turning white and leaned over it.

Rue and Vex were down! Someone was hitting the energy shield and it was taking its toll on the mages. But who? Mila was still rooted to the spot, safely hiding behind her forces while watching the skirmish. At her side, Lagrima could make out the Elemental, standing with her arms crossed before her chest. The girl let her gaze wander over the chaos which was unfolding below on the street and a deep frown appeared on her face. Where was the Necromancer? After a second screening of the people below, Lagrima was certain that Ciardha was not among the fighters. That meant she was the one attacking the shield!

Lagrima gripped the railing harder and sucked air into her lungs. Her dark gaze met Mila’s who had been watching her scan her surroundings. A sly, triumphant smile tugged at her lips as though she knew what the girl was thinking.

‘She does’, Lagrima thought, drawing her brows together. ‘She knows exactly what I am thinking and what my next moves will be.’ Stepping back from the railing, she picked up her rifle and slowly retreated into the hotel, still a bit wobbly on her feet. ‘But there is nobody else to walk into her trap. Either I face the Necromancer and rip her focus away from the shield so Vex and Rue can fight or I don’t. Easy as that. Nobody will be calling me out on it if I do not engage her. Nobody would know I have been aware of her. But Mila knows I would never let someone get hurt because I haven’t reacted.’ Lagrima opened the door leading into the corridor, trailing her fingers along the wall in case she would have to rely on it. Thoughts swirled through her mind as she made her way down the stairs. Slowly, she felt her strength return – agonizingly slowly.

‘I am no match for the Necromancer in my current state. Mila has taught me what to do in such a situation. When the outcome of a fight is clear and you will lose, don’t act. If you are the weaker opponent, walk away. Have I ever listened to that?’

‘Yes’, she answered herself. ‘When it was just me alone. Never when someone else’s life was on the line. How many times did she have to save me? Mila knows I am cautious up to a degree that borders on cowardly when I am acting alone, when there is nobody to look out for, nobody to protect. That is fine with me, call me a coward. Most of the time I am, giving myself tough and cold on the outside when really I am scared. Oh, I am scared to death.’

Lagrima reached the lobby and raised her eyebrows in surprise. About a dozen children were sitting on the couches and on the floor even, each with a steaming cup of hot chocolate or tea in their hands. The girl had expected more panic, chaos and terror instead of calm children staring at her fearfully.

“Mr. O’Callaghan! There is a strange woman with a weapon!”

Noah who had been standing at the small bar, making more tea and hot chocolate for the kids, immediately left his post, crossing the lobby in a few long strides. “Miss Lagrima, are you okay? You look rather pale.”

Lagrima shook her head. “I am completely drained, is all. Can I have some water and chocolate? Lots of chocolate, actually?”

Frowning, Noah nodded and hastened into the kitchen, only to emerge moments later, carrying several bars of chocolate and bottled water. Impressed he watched Lagrima gulp down the water in record time and took a huge bite out of a chocolate bar.

“Thanks”, Lagrima mumbled and handed Noah her rifle. “Take care of this for me. Don’t worry, there is no way you can accidentally fire it, it requires magic.”

The receptionist drew his brows together worriedly while he looked down at the weapon it his hand as if it might bite him any second. “You are not going to go outside, are you? Not in this condition; you need rest.” He witnessed her devour two entire bars of chocolate within half a minute.

“There is nobody else. The Dead Men are busy fighting soldiers. Rue and Vex are under an enormous strain from supporting the shield which is under heavy fire. I need to find the Necromancer responsible for the attacks.”

“I may not know what powers this Necromancer has you are talking about but at the moment, they have outclassed you. Forgive me for saying this but everyone outclasses you right now.”  
Lagrima lifted an eyebrow and smiled weakly. “Well, you are not wrong.”

Was she really going to do this? Stumbling into a fight she was poorly prepared for, a fight she would most definitely lose? Doing stupid things she was fantastic in. She could walk away, feint a break-down and leave the rest to the others. Nobody would blame her and yet – she couldn’t bring herself to.

“Ten minutes. That is all I ask. Please, Miss Lagrima.”

“They don’t have ten minutes.”

“I can see that you are scared”, Noah tried another tactic, hoping to convince her not to go. “You are scared and exhausted. You will be walking to your death!”

“There is nobody else to help me out.” Lagrima pulled at the straps which secured a pistol to her thigh, loosening the holster and finally taking it off entirely. She handed the holster with the weapon over to Noah. “Bullets will have no effect on Ciardha. Even less when she knows I am coming.”

Before a staring Noah could stop the girl, she had turned and was heading towards the kitchen door, apparently planning to leave the hotel via the back entrance. She was willingly walking into a trap? Were these mages made of sacrifice and utter loyalty? It was only when a black-haired boy waved his hand in front of Noah’s face, that he realized he had been focused on the closed kitchen door, hoping the girl would come back.

“Mr. O’Callaghan? Are you alright?”

“No”, the receptionist shook his head. “No, I am not.”

ooOoOoo

Mila Corvo let the smile become a malicious grin the second Lagrima had disappeared inside the hotel. Ciardha would warmly welcome her former friend. With everyone else being occupied, there really was just Lagrima who could take care of the one attacking the shield. 

However, this was unexpected. Why was the shield still so strong? She had taken care of the glyphs from here. All there was left was to make the rudimentary energy crumble and Ciardha and Drawn were more than powerful enough to have it done within seconds. So why? Unless … 

Corvo scowled. “They have linked the shield to themselves”, she growled and pressed her phone to her ear again.

Erskine watched with big, horrified eyes as first Saracen’s hand bearing the warding sigil was shrouded in shadows which then shot up and covered his entire upper body. Finally, a scream ripped from his throat and he dropped to the ground.

“Get … the rest”, Saracen ground out between clenched teeth and waved in the vague direction of the last two children.

“Saracen-”

“GO!”

Ravel wrapped himself in air and hastened towards the last two kids. This was a nightmare. Saracen’s screams in his ear, Erskine ducked and dodged, bounding on. Five steps, four, three, two! The mage gripped one of the boys around the waist, hoisting him up over his shoulder and knelt down to grasp the other in a similar fashion. As fast as he dared he ran back towards his friend and the hotel.

“Saracen, the shield!”  
The mage was panting heavily with his hand pressed over the one bearing the glyph. He was cowering between four dead soldiers, trying to use them as cover. Bullets and fire were whizzing by. Under the protection of a solid wall of air, Saracen pushed to his feet and leaned on Erskine. Together the men made their way towards the hotel.

Vex was on his knees. Grimacing, he fought down the wave of nausea that had come with a sudden drainage of his magic. Someone was trying to break the shield down – brutally. The glyph he had edged into the skin on the back of his hand burned and itched. His arm slowly became numb and cold, the icy tendrils spreading over his shoulder and down his chest. He screamed and doubled-over when the frost sapped through his clothing and cut deeply into his skin.

“Mr. Vex!” Noah came running down the stairs and wrapped an arm around the blond. About a minute ago, Lagrima had slipped out of the hotel, still pale but having recovered enough to make sure she would last for a few minutes in a fight. “Mr. Vex, what is happening? Please, tell me what to do!” Noah was near panicking. It was one thing to treat a mortally wounded man while he was unconscious but seeing Dexter being tortured by some supernatural force was more than he could bear to watch. The blond was shivering and the hot pain of the ice became almost unbearable. It felt like he was being burned alive.

“Miss Lagrima is on her way to track down a – a Necromancer. They are responsible for – for … this. The shield I mean and -

Dexter trembled and his face was a stony mask of pain. It was a surprise he had even processed what Noah had just told him. The receptionist “What?!”

“I tried to stop her but she - “

“This is surely a trap! Dammit! Help … me up!” Another scream tore from Dexter’s throat and he doubled over. It took a few moments until he had himself under control enough again.

Noah lowered his head. “Miss Lagrima is aware of this.”

Vex gaped, putting the pieces together. His eyes widened and an irate vertical crease formed on his brow. There was no way – no way! – that Lagrima was risking her life for him and Saracen again!

“Noah, do … you remember the warding … glyph?”

The receptionist stared. “What? Y-yes, of course. Why?”

“Draw … as many as you can … have the children help. As soon – argh – as you have the shield … under your control … I can erase … my sigil.”

“But -”

“Noah, please”, Vex begged, the coldness threatening to cut off is breath and permanently settling in his lungs. “I can’t take this much longer!”

The receptionist nodded and ran back inside and Dexter could hear his timid voice but was unable to make out any words.

Saracen dropped to the ground next to his husband, Ravel having let go of him to get the kids to safety. Dark tendrils of shadow coiled and writhed about him and found their way up his sleeves and down his collar. Sharp edges pressed into his skin, tearing it, assaulting it. Tears stung his eyes as he reached out for Dexter who was deathly pale, a bluish tone underlying his skin tone.

“Dex … ter.”

Vex looked up, teeth clattering, skin clammy and cold to the touch. He drew his eyebrows together when he saw the state his husband was in. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek but who could tell how his body looked beneath these layers of clothing. Darkness coiled as he resisted and fought back with all his might. Dexter’s heart jumped in misery at the sorry sight Saracen presented. Not again! Not after he had been forced to listen to Saracen’s screams as he was nearly tortured to death by a maniac. Not after all those nightmares he would wake with a gasp from. Those nasty things where he would see Saracen die over and over again, blaming him for not being there when it mattered. Not after he had whispered soothing things to his husband while Saracen silently cried in Dexter’s arms until sheer exhaustion finally permitted him to fall asleep in the warm embrace of his lover.

“Saracen”, Dexter whispered and took Rue’s hand desperately reaching out to him. It was warm and comforting even if Saracen flinched at the icy touch. “Don’t … worry. I am here for you. I – I love you.”

Rue’s eyes went soft for a moment. “You are so sappy, darling. And … I love you, too.”

“C’mere”, Dexter weakly pulled at Saracen’s hand, motioning the other to scoot closer until he was able to wrap his cold arms around him.

“Ice? I don’t … envy you at all”, Saracen said. “Elementals can be … nasty as hell.”

“Shit”, Dexter breathed, a sudden thought popping into his mind and he grasped Saracen’s hand harder. “There are two of them.”

Saracen frowned, not willing to play games right now or guess the meaning of Dexter’s cryptic talk.   
“What?”

“Necromancers can’t manipulate the elements … There are at least two attacking the shield.”

“So?” Rue did not see the big picture. Here he was, taking the onslaught with his own body. What could the number of attackers change? It wouldn’t be helping him much.

“Lagrima … went after them.”

\----  
¹ Fuck, what a spectacle  
² They are all mad  
³ Just six. Six more


	10. Choosing Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! TORTURE-ISH STUFF WILL BE HAPPENING IN THIS CHAPTER!  
> Also Translations of Italian stuff will be at the end

Erskine left the children in Noah’s care who was currently instructing the kids to draw warding sigils onto the walls and the floor of the lobby. He did not ask how he had managed to have them comply or why he knew how exactly to draw the glyphs. Neither did he question the fact that Noah only nodded at him in thanks when he dropped the two boys onto one of the sofas. No questions were asked; he wouldn’t even make him proof he was on their side. He had probably recognised him from when he had arrived with the others. Ravel decided, not to dwell on that. Important was, that the receptionist took control over the shield and Saracen and Dexter would be released from their predicament.

“All set! Mr. Mage, please tell Mr. Rue and Mr. Vex to nullify the … symbols on their hands. We take over from here.”

Ravel nodded and turned, hastening outside again where his friends were just struggling on their feet again. Although, obviously in pain, they seemed to have found some new sort of motivation to fight.

“The mortal has got it under control!” he shouted, taking the three steps in one leap and covering the last few meters in a sprint.

Immediately, Dexter gripped Saracen’s hand and dragged the dagger he had managed to hold on to, over the sigil, cutting deeply. The reaction was instantaneous. The shadows dissipated as quickly as they had appeared and once he sliced through Dexter’s sigil the icy tendrils vanished and took the agony with them. Only the wounds inflicted remained, weeping gashes and cuts all over their bodies. It didn’t bother them all too much. There were bigger fish to fry.

“Much better”, Saracen winced with a relieved smile. He wiped the beads of sweat off of his brow and turned to his husband. “Shall we?”

Dexter nodded, still panting. He offered Saracen a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Do you know where she is?”

“At the back of the building.”  
Ravel raised a curious eyebrow, frowning at his friends breaking into a shaky run. “What is going on?” he shouted after them.

“We’ll explain later!” Saracen’s voice trailed back at him.

Erskine shrugged. “I guess I will help the others then.”

\----

Lagrima regretted her decision to go after Ciardha on her own the second she stepped outside the hotel and cleared the protective energy shield. Logic would have called to stay inside and attack with electricity but the girl’s magical reserves were nearly depleted and she was forced to engage in hand-to-hand combat. An odd calm washed over her, settling in. Lagrima knew she stood no chance against Ciardha and could at best tickle her with the puny knife she had still strapped to her thigh. Protective clothing and immediate regeneration skills made the Necromancer untouchable. But her goal was set on distracting Ciardha from the shield and have her focus her attention on her and her alone. For as long as possible – the outcome or her fate was of no importance.

Since Ciardha already knew she would be getting company, Lagrima made no effort to hide her presence as she walked down the two steps from the hotel, stopping at the bottom.

Only a few feet away from her stood the Necromancer who was about to command another shadow spear to attack the weakened shield. When Lagrima started walking towards her, a grin spread over her face and she adopted a fighting stance, forgetting about the shield for the moment. This was far more fun, especially with her opponent looking as though she might break down any second now: Lagrima was pale, had a feverish air about her and although she attempted a confident strut, it was clear she was not at the peak of her strength.

She is tough, Ciardha had to give her that much. Of course she knew why Lagrima was keen on challenging her: she wanted to stall. Ciardha smirked – she was able to stall as well. Leontion Drawn would be taking care of the shield while she had all the time in the world to stall Lagrima’s death.

Lagrima reached behind her and under her armoured leather jacket, drawing a knife from a scabbard she liked to keep on the small of her back. The weapon was double-edged, narrow and had a small symbol carved into the metal near the hilt which was wrapped in black leather strips. The sunlight of the late afternoon reflected in the old yet polished blade, hiding the one or other notch and scratch it sported.

And then she attacked.

Darting forward, Lagrima switched the knife to her left hand and jabbed it at Ciardha’s right side, just below her risen elbow. Like this, the Necromancer had to either order a shadow or lower her arm completely to block. Or she went for the mad defence and let herself be stabbed.

Lagrima knew she had less than fractions of a second to react accordingly which was why the kind of defence was irrelevant to her. She had drawn her other arm back with the slightest delay to the stabbing motion and was now snapping her hip forward, bringing her right arm in for a punch against the temple.

Ciardha blocked the knife with shadows and raised her arm minimally so Lagrima’s fist scraped uselessly against her wrist. She curled her fingers and went for a throat jab. Lagrima bent her upper body back enough so it would miss and grabbed the Necromancer’s wrist with her hand. Pulling, the girl tried to gain some sort of leverage as she took a quick step and half-turning clutched Ciardha’s offending arm between her ribs and forearm. Raising her arm, she smacked the elbow into Ciardha’s face and leaped free.

The two women circled each other, waiting, assessing. Lagrima’s senses were sharpened to a shattering degree. She was painfully aware that Ciardha wouldn’t have to move at all in order to control the darkness so when the girl ducked to the side and rolled over the floor it was more of a hunch than actual certainty of something coming.

The spear dug into the tar just where she had been standing.

“I am impressed”, Ciardha said in a soft, calming voice.

“Good for you.” Lagrima knew she couldn’t get distracted by conversation or else she would never see or rather guess the shadow-weapons coming. She flipped the knife in her hand so she was gripping it in reversed fashion. Two quick paces and she was onto Ciardha, slicing from right to left across her chest. The Necromancer blocked with her arm before the blade touched her body and her fist collided with Lagrima’s solarplexus.

The girl gasped breathlessly and doubled over. Her shirt had absorbed most of the blow’s power but couldn’t completely protect her from the force. Ciardha pulled her into an upright position again and headbutted her.

Lagrima staggered back, clutching her nose. Although it was not broken, the pain was immense and tears flooded her eyes but she blinked them away, raising the knife again. A grim expression had worked itself onto her features and her focus was on the smirking Necromancer before her. She was taunting her, playing with her – Ciardha could have finished her off within twenty seconds if she truly wanted to and she knew it. And she knew that Lagrima knew. Her grin grew wider and she swaggered towards the girl.

Suddenly two tendrils lashed out at her. Lagrima deflected the shades with her knife and danced to the left which she realized too late had been Ciardha’s intention. A hammer of darkness met the girl and she was sent careening back, landing hard.

Coughing, Lagrima fought to her feet again and attacked anew. No pause. No distractions, she thought as she stabbed at Ciardha’s throat. The Necromancer swatted her hand aside and attempted to come in with a punch of her own. Lagrima leaped to the left, driving the arm further away from her and was now standing at Ciardha’s side. She moved in with a kick to the knee which had her opponent grunt with pain and shadow knives darted out at her. The girl deflected two with the blade, avoided another three by ducking and leaping but two found their mark. One thudded uselessly against her leg, the other graced her cheek a bit too narrowly for her taste and she could feel the blood start to trickle down her jaw and neck.

Lagrima cried out as her shirt rucked up with the movement and two knives smacked into her left side. She staggered back until she reached the fence of the parking lot, sagging against it.

“Cazzo!” she hissed and curled her fingers into the cold wire-netting. Her breaths came in heavy pants and the pain radiated in hot pulsing gusts from the wound site. At first she refused to look down, imploring adrenaline to reign in the pain so she could continue to fight but when the blades inside her felt icy cold, she risked a glance.

Two long light blue icicles protruded from her side.

Lagrima looked up and could see a man walk towards them, arms clasped behind his back like professors were prone to do. Where had he come from all of a sudden? Or had he been here all along, offering the fight to Ciardha? If she remembered correctly, this was Leontion Drawn, a mage whose power was to conjure and control water in its three aggregate states. A dangerous talent if you were creative enough to explore its numerous variables. Lagrima hoped he was dull as wood.

Drawn was not smiling and judging by his expression, he rarely did so. From his looks he must have been in his late thirties. Dressed in washed out grey jeans, blue shirt and grey vest, he had the vibe of a banker. The ash blond hair combed back neatly over his scalp didn’t particularly help matters.

Lagrima’s knees gave out and it took all of her strength to just remain more or less upright. There was not much fighting to be done on the ground.

“Don’t tell me you are already giving up?” Ciardha teased condescendingly and waggled a finger into her direction.

Lagrima screamed in pain as shadows moved up under her shirt, slowly dragging sharp edges across her belly. Deep and deeper they cut. Finally, she slid down the fence until she sat curled up against the wire. Clattering the dagger toppled to the ground and Ciardha picked it up, turning and inspecting it.

“Lovely craftsmanship.”

“Fottiti¹”, Lagrima growled while she was clutching her stomach. The fiery pain set her entire midsection on fire and was travelling fast through her entire body. In her side fire and ice fought for the upper hand and she could feel the icicles with her every movement. And they showed no intention of melting any time soon. This was bad. She had lost her knife and the fight in just under five minutes and with two opponents she couldn’t think of fighting back. Instead, she looked up at them defiantly.

“Enough”, Drawn said calmly. “Corvo wants her alive and if you keep this up she will have bled out in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be careful”, Ciardha assured him confidently and hunched down to meet Lagrima’s eye with a smirk. Holding up the dagger so the girl would see it, she traced her jawline with the sharp blade before plunging it into her shoulder.

Lagrima screamed. This was fine. She was fine. Ciardha still had her attention on her and Drawn was standing a bit further off with arms crossed, a frown on his face. As long as neither of them had the idea of taking the shield down, she was doing her job. Pain was irrelevant, pain went away with time.

“Now, this is a special weapon”, Ciardha crooned as she turned the hilt, drawing another scream out of the girl. “Or perhaps you are just not wearing protective clothing.” Pulling the dagger extra slowly from her shoulder, Ciardha had shades shatter the icicles and tear into the skin instead.

Sto bene. Sto bene. Posso farcela², Lagrima implored herself as she hissed in pain and clenched her teeth. Soltanto un paio di minuti³. Anger swelled up inside her as she saw Ciardha’s smirking face and with a desperate gathering of strength she reared up and punched the Necromancer against the side of her head. Or wanted to.

Ciardha easily blocked the punch and grabbed Lagrima by her jacket and hauled her up, only to throw her into the open space of the parking lot. The girl rolled over the tar and when she came to a halt on her stomach, she didn’t get up.

\---

“What are they doing?” Corvo asked, irritated and stole a glance at her watch. “The shield should be destroyed by now. We are losing precious time.”

Yedra scanned her surroundings. The Dead Men were still engulfed in an ongoing battle with their toughest soldiers and it seemed like an active stalemate: neither party made any relevant progress in beating their enemies and still fists flew, fire spat and swords rang. The shield was in place as ever and she could see the mortal peaking out of his save hotel. Rue and Vex were nowhere to be seen. Either they had hidden away inside the building or they had gotten rid of their sigils and where attempting to flee with the amulet while everyone was busy fighting. Slowly, a plan began to take form in her mind. Maybe she could …

“Boss, head to the back of the building and meet up with Ciardha and Drawn. Leave the amulet to me”, Yedra said and before Corvo could protest the Elemental had already disappeared between the combatants.

Seconds later she stood just outside the energy field, shouting up at Noah who had – against better judgement – risked a glance outside and was regretting it already. Not only were the Dead Men unable to completely take out Corvo’s forces, now one of the enemy mages was also trying to soft-talk him. “Oi, Mortal! I want to talk!”

Noah looked down at the woman. She was clad in something resembling combat gear or at least it was what you might see people wear in military films on television: black trousers, black boots and a black T-shirt. It looked badass, Noah had to admit but in his opinion it was highly impractical in a fight. Lagrima had also just gone with T-shirt and leather jacket. Two of the Dead Men wore suits for God’s sake! Perhaps they were all insane or maybe fashion was more important than safety?

She can’t hurt you. You are save as long as you don’t step outside, Noah told himself but drew in a nervous breath anyway. He glanced around to see if anyone was creeping up on him while he was focused on the annoyingly amused mage waiting cross-armed for his reaction. Even though his reason-driven mind screamed at him to head inside and simply ignore the woman, his instincts urged him to stay and listen to what she had to say. Perhaps he could find out more and relay the information to Rue and Vex? Gulping, he looked at the mage.

“I have a deal to offer.”

Noah almost sagged with relief; there was no way he would fall for this. A small pitying smile played around his mouth. “It is not for me to strike bargains with sorcerers.”

“This time it is.”

“I am done talking to you.”

“At least listen to what I have to say!”

When Noah turned back around, Yedra had abandoned her condescending air and had raised her arms in a wait-I-didn’t-mean-it-like-that-gesture. However, it was the tone of her voice that had made the receptionist stop and nod.

What am I doing?! He was close to panicking. Bargaining with a mage – an enemy mage no less. He was vastly out of his depth.

“My name is Yedra and yes, I am with Corvo. Recently, I have started to become a bit worried about her goals, though.”

Yedra. The counterspy.

Noah snorted. “So you are the one who helped Mr. Rue and Mr. Vex escape. What is this? You want me to repay the favour by handing the amulet over? I am afraid I can’t and won’t do that.”

“They told you about it, huh? I can see now why the Dead Men like you and I have to admit I had planned to convince you to just do that but as soon as we started to talk I knew anything but the truth wouldn’t work with you.”

“Stop flattering me. It is not working.”

Yedra actually laughed.

“Why did you help Mr. Rue and Mr. Vex?”

The mage shrugged. “I guess I wanted to wreak some havoc. You know, make the game more interesting. The Dead Men make excellent adversaries and Corvo would have killed Rue and where is the fun in that? Challenging them head-on in a fight seemed far more rewarding.”

“And you are still alive? Despite living so recklessly and falling your employers in the back?”

“What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over. I am very good at what I do”, Yedra replied simply.

“And your prize?” Noah wanted to know. “I understand you are a mercenary, working for the highest bidder and as far as I know, Miss Corvo is the highest bidder. So, I don’t really get what’s in it for you.” Noah couldn’t believe himself. Was this really him speaking? Him? Noah, the hotelier with too much love for stories and cozyness? His heart pounded wildly in his chest and he was afraid the mage would see right through his tough mask. It already took all of his willpower not to knead the brim of his waistcoat. Mr. Rue had pointed out this tic and he was working hard to abandon it.

“True, I do work for those who can pay me more handsomely but first and foremost I am loyal to myself. You ask what is in it for me? I am a murderer, hitter, assassin, call me what you like. Killing is part of me and I love every second of it. Don’t look so shocked, I have got to have hobbies, too.”

“What?” Noah croaked, throat suddenly dry as sand. Why was he not running yet?

Yedra ignored him. “But you see, the thing is, not even I want to see the entire world burn. You know, living in it and everything. And if everyone is dead, who do I get to kill? I actually don’t really care who gets to win, all I want is some action.”

“You are mad!” Noah said but cringed internally. He felt light-headed and nauseous.

“And I am the best chance at survival you have right now.”

Noah bit his lip. “Why should I believe you? You hurt Mr. Rue. I … I have seen what you did to him. All those wounds and cuts and bruises. So much blood. I freaking helped stop the bleeding and save his life!”

“Unfortunate but necessary. Probably. At least that is what the antagonist turned good says at this point in the story, right?” She offered Noah a weak smile. “Listen, I am evil and crooked and a criminal and if you knew what I have done you would faint on the spot but not even I want to be part of Corvo’s crusade. It’s suicide and I don’t do that.”

“Antagonist turned good? No, you are evil through and through. How do I know you are not playing me as well and planning on double-crossing me?”

Yedra grinned devilishly. “Now, that you can’t know.”

“What do you need me for? I am not willing to hand over the amulet since that would be helping Miss Corvo. And by the way, haven’t you had enough opportunities to – to get rid of Miss Corvo? I mean, as one of her closest soldiers?”

Laughter bubbled from Yedra’s lips. “I am a mercenary. She trusts me as far as she can throw me. Corvo is well aware that if someone were to offer me more money to eliminate her, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“You are disgusting”, Noah spat and the nausea intensified. He hoped not to black out before this conversation was over – what an embarrassment.

“Loyalty destroys you!” Yedra snapped at a surprised Noah. “Caring destroys you. Love destroys you. Look at the Dead Men or at Vex and Rue for that matter. If one of them died …” she didn’t have to finish the sentence for Noah to piece the rest together himself. He had seen the hollow expression on Dexter’s face two nights ago when his husband had been kidnapped. Love had turned him into a vengeful man with his mind set on destroying the people who had dared to lay a hand on Saracen.

“There wouldn’t have been an opening”, Yedra continued more calmly. “Not with Ciardha around. As opposed to me, she is very very loyal to Corvo and would die for her – if she could be killed. I still haven’t figured out how to do that exactly. How do you kill darkness itself?”

A frown worked its way on Noah’s brow and he opened his mouth to ask.

“Ciardha. A Necromancer”, Yedra clarified when she caught the confused expression on the receptionist’s face.

Even though Noah was clueless as to why a Necromancer meant especially bad news, he just nodded. Probably someone who could raise the dead. Perhaps Mr. Pleasant was also a Necromancer? He seemed to have some sort of control over death, at least.

The gears in his mind were turning and rattling and spinning. Could he trust – no – believe this woman? Reason screamed no but intuition suggested yes. What should he do? Noah would have to decide quickly: to the west the sun was nearing the horizon and Beltene was almost upon them.

“What’s the deal? If I don’t like it I walk.”

“Agreed.”

\---

Dexter nudged Saracen in the ribs. “Are you seeing what I am seeing?”

Just seconds ago, the mages had reached the corner of the hotel and were trying to make themselves a picture of what was happening. Of course, the screams had reached them long before they could even peak around the corner. But seeing what was going on, was even more painful.

“Got a plan?” Saracen winced as the Necromancer tossed Lagrima to the floor like a rag doll. She didn’t show a sign of life.

“Heroically dash in and save her?”

Dexter sighed. “Yeah, why not. Ciardha will use her against us. And who is the dude?”

“No idea. He must be the Elemental who helped attack the shield. It does not matter. Two on two. Thoughts? Time’s a-hasting.”

“The thing we did in Brazil?”

“You want to pull that off here? Lagrima can’t take any more of this beating!” Saracen hissed.

“I am all ears for a better plan.”

Saracen tightened his jaw and nodded jerkily. “Okay.”

They could see Ciardha stroll over to where movement came into Lagrima and she was trying to scramble away from the Necromancer. A conversation drifted over to them.

“Ciardha, I think that is enough. Don’t forget, Corvo wants her revenge and she will not take it lightly that the girl is already gravely wounded.”

“You are a spoilsport, Drawn”, Ciardha said and kicked Lagrima in the side, sending her to the floor again with a sharp cry of pain. “But I was thinking, we could use her as leverage to have them finally take that damn shield down.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Torture her in front of the Dead Men. Their soft hearts will not be able to bear the sight and do as we ask.”

“Torture? What part of no harm did you not understand?”

Ciardha smirked. “Oh, but I meant your kind of torture.”

Laughter was the answer but not from Drawn; he thought it was a fairly terrible plan but that hardly gave him a reason to laugh. He preferred frowning.

“Awful planning on your end”, Dexter Vex said and slow-clapped as he and Rue walked towards them. Neither seemed to be in a particular hurry and when they stopped, Vex even stuck his hand in his pocket in a relaxed gesture as though he were meeting friends.

“And why is that?” Ciardha asked innocently and rammed her heel into Lagrima’s stomach, paying close attention to the Dead Men’s reaction. To her surprise they didn’t even flinch at the sharp cry of pain.

“True, we hate seeing you treat her like this”, Saracen answered and hoped his voice was collected enough, hoped it was cold enough. “Nobody should look down on others like you do. However, while she is an ally, there is no way we would put her life before everyone living on this planet. One life does not matter if the world is at stake.”

“We learned that the hard way”, Dexter added in an undertone of darkness. “We are not here to save her, we are here to take you down and if we can help her, then that’s a bonus. Not a priority.”

Tears stung Lagrima’s eyes. It was a scam. It had to be. A brilliant con to save her. But when she looked up into the cold stony masks that were Rue’s and Vex’ faces, her resolution started to crumble. Doubts seeped into her, riddled her very being and unhinged her mind. What if they were abandoning her? No, not after everything she had done for them; they couldn’t leave her like this! Weren’t they friends? Had that only been her own naivité to trust them?

Lavoro da sola perché non posso fidarmi di nessuno, she thought bitterly. Loro mi consegneranno a Mila senza di battere ciglia per salvare il mondo. Non é che volevo? Dilatare il gioco per Rue and Vex, per gli Uomini Morti, malgrado le consequenze? Sí, lo volevo ma ho pensato che mi avessero coperto le spalle … Mi sonso sbagliata.4

Lagrima was a mess. Everyone could see that: a few stray strands hairs had broken free of her braid and clung to her sweat-covered pale face. Haunted green eyes and shallow breathing made her look even worse for wear. Her hands were pressed onto her stomach but blood had started to dye them red. The shirt, once light grey was crimson now.

“Even if she is your ally? I didn’t think the Dead Men had fallen so low. She helped you in your plot”, Ciardha pointed out and pressed down harder. Lagrima winced.

“We never asked her to”, Saracen said and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Lagrima sag even more and he was certain he heard a sob. This was not going as planned. Lagrima somehow did not understand that this was their plan. To make her worthless and invaluable in the eye of their opponents and thus saving her life. The girl took it personally and Saracen realized she must have been abandoned or betrayed more than just once in her life to react like this. It was too late to change tactics, however.

“Don’t fall for it”, Drawn cut into the conversation. His voice was still calm but a vertical crease between his eyebrows betrayed his feelings. “They do care. Look.” He pointed his hand at Lagrima and her tears sank into the skin.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Lagrima’s face screwed up in pain and she clawed at her chest as though she were trying to rip it open. A scream tore from her throat. Ciardha released her and the girl curled up. “Please … “ she gasped. “Stop.”

Lagrima felt her own tears course through her body as tiny icy particles, slicing and cutting nerve ends, stinging into her inner organs and momentarily clogging the arteries leading to her lungs, making her starve for oxygen. The pressure put on her body was enormous and she simply wished it to be over. Drawn was not just not dull as wood, he was very creative when it came to his power.

“All right, enough chit chat. Dex, I take the banker, you try your luck with Ciardha.” Saracen broke into a sprint and threw himself at Drawn.

Icicles dropped out of the sky and Saracen leaped to the side, ducking and rolling over the ground. Gracefully, he evaded them, although more than once it seemed like he might be struck. It was as though he knew where he was allowed to step and how to move. His fist collided with Drawn’s jaw and the mage stumbled back.

Shocked, he looked at his opponent, whose face now openly showed all the anger he had fought down before. “How did you-”

“I am Saracen Rue and I know things!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> 1 Fuck you
> 
> 2 I am fine. I am fine. I can do this
> 
> 3 Just another few minutes
> 
> 4 I work alone because I cannot trust anyone. They are going to hand me over to Mila without batting an eye in order to save the world. Is that not what I wanted? Stall the game for Rue and Vex, for the Dead Men, disregarding the consequenzes? Yes, I wanted that but still I thought that they would have my back ... I was wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

When the Dead Men had taken the final soldier out of commission, Corvo had gone. Obviously. Only an idiot would wait around until they were discovered by the now overwhelming force of the enemy. Corvo certainly was not an idiot.

“Great”, Ghastly mumbled when he looked up to where Lagrima was supposed to be and found that the girl had vanished as well. They had probably flocked together somewhere, transferring the battle to another location without bothering to notify them.

“Where could they be?” Ghastly asked. “Shield’s still up, so there is no way, Corvo has the amulet but the sun is already setting. We are losing time. Even if this festival thing is tomorrow evening, it is going to be a close call. What are the chances that if we simply wait this nightmare will be over? Without the pendant, she shouldn’t be able to tear down the walls of reality, right?”

Skulduggery shook his head. Sliding bullets into the chambers of his revolvers, he didn’t look up. “Correct. Still, I have a bad feeling that she has an ace up her sleeve. There is too much confidence in this woman.”

“So we stall?” Anton asked.

Skulduggery nodded. “We stall but first we need to find them. Otherwise we are stalling ourselves from stalling her.”

Erskine smirked. “They are at the back of the building. Lagrima is fighting with them.” He grinned even wider when he saw the surprised faces of his friends. So this was how Saracen felt all the time knowing things nobody could possibly know. It was a good feeling, he had to admit.

“Saracen? Is that you?” Ghastly quipped. “You look so … old.”

Erskine boxed the tailor on the arm and opened his mouth in mock offence. “I’ll show you old, grandpa. Let’s go.”

**ooOoOoo**

Dexter was being driven back by the Necromancer. His face was contorted from concentration and determination but she was more powerful when it came to magic. Dexter’s energy was swallowed up by hungry waves of shadows as though they were nothing. He ducked spears, knives and whips, blocked swords, daggers and maces. Never landed an attack. At the moment, Vex didn’t even have the advantage of muscle strength: he was worn, hurt and drawn. Sweat pearled on his brow and ran down the back of his neck.

Behind Dexter the Dead Men could see the unmoving shape of the white-haired girl. She was lying on her side, probably unconscious or … Neither of them wanted to finish the thought. However, it looked as though Vex was trying to keep himself between the prone form of the girl and his opponent. He was still protecting her. She was alive!

Corvo was nowhere to be seen. 

Saracen was engulfed in an epic battle with an ice mage, dodging light blue lances and splinters of ice. He looked more irate than determined and while his attacks were precise and delivered with speed, the icicles kept him from getting too close.

Skulduggery pointed his gloved bony finger. “Erskine, Ghastly. Find Corvo. Stop her, attack her, get coffee together. I don’t care as long as she does not open a portal. Anton, get Lagrima and bring her to safety.”

“What about you?” Shudder inquired.

“Me? Oh, I feel like breaking the ice a little.”

Groans of exasperation met his pun and they knew, if he could, Skulduggery would have grinned gleefully. As it were, he adjusted his hat, took one of his revolvers in hand and sprinted out of hiding and around the corner.

Drawn had his back to the advancing skeleton and the first shot was more of a warning than an actual attempt to kill him. Skulduggery could have eliminated his opponent with a bullet in the back which would have gone through and through his heart and killed him on the spot. But he was not that kind of man any more. Saracen was not in mortal danger so the bullet slammed into Drawn’s shoulder instead. There would be no hesitation were his friend’s life depending on him being able to pull the trigger in cold blood. He still was that kind of man.

Skulduggery started firing again but Drawn slipped to the side, holding his shoulder and fully exposed Saracen to the bullets. It hadn’t been the first time they had done this. Saracen had seen Skulduggery and his revolver and knew he was supposed to look out for himself when the shooting started. He ducked and rolled over the ground, bullets whizzing past above him. Fluidly, he got to his feet again.

“Skul, he’s yours. I help Dex!” Saracen shouted and took off at a sprint. He saw his husband draw up a field of energy with his hands before his body to shield himself from a spear of darkness. Saracen moved in and kicked at Ciardha’s knees. The Necromancer hissed in pain and moved position until she had the couple in her sights. Fists raised, her grin taunted them to attack.

“Dexter?”

Vex nodded grimly. “I got you, baby. This is for Lagrima.”  
They moved in with a punch at the same time. Ciardha took a step back, locking her feet as two fists came her way. Bringing her hands up she blocked both fists with her arms and leaped free.

Saracen was already on her. Blocking his kick to the midsection, Ciardha darted forward. Saracen saw it coming and pushed at her forearm with his left hand and moved, clashing into her side while immediately bringing his right hand down to grasp her wrist. His left elbow slammed into her face.

Ciardha howled in pain and staggered back, blood coming from her nose. Grimacing she let shadows coil up and they became whips and sharp tendrils.

Dexter pushed Saracen to the side and drew up an energy field. The shadows smacked and lapped against it. The exertion clearly showed in his features and Saracen knew he was trying to buy him some time. 

“Dexter! On my mark!” Saracen ducked and dodged the shadows coming his way. He could see Ciardha’s pattern. He knew how she fought. Saracen opened with a punch to the side of her head, expecting it to be blocked and brought his knee up at the same time. It collided with Ciardha’s abdomen and she snarled, ordering shadows to capture him. Suddenly, his left wrist was wrenched behind his back and the Necromancer drove him onto his knees. Darkness swirled around her, engulfing both her and Saracen who winced as his shoulder was close to breaking point. Saracen knew he had mere seconds before the Necromancer would skewer him. But still he waited on – he waited for the opening. Saracen glanced at Dexter. If he had shouted, waved red flags and hopped up and down, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The signal was loud and clear for Dexter to understand. 

NOW, Saracen was saying.

Even though Dexter could not see how the situation had changed he trusted Saracen to know. He had already gathered a big ball of sizzling energy and only as he threw it, he saw what his husband had known all along.

Ciardha took a tiny step to the side in order to finally break Saracen’s arm or rip it off entirely – Dexter certainly wouldn’t put it beyond her at this point – and her shadows gathered at her right side, exposing her front. The ball of energy hit her square in the chest and she stumbled back, releasing Saracen.

Dexter stepped in between his husband and the hissing Necromancer, who swung at him. Dexter ducked and danced to the side, while Saracen appeared from behind him and grabbed Ciardha’s wrist with his left hand. One step and he was showing her his side and while his right hand went to her wrist, his left arm snaked up under hers and onto the back of her neck. Saracen pushed down on Ciardha’s head and brought his knee up simultaneously. There was the ugly crunching of a nose breaking and Ciardha clutched it, tears gathering in her eyes. Saracen let go and moved for Dexter to throw a low punch at her ribs, sending her to the ground. Energy flared in his hand and he sank to one knee to deliver the final knocking-out blow.

“Dex! Stop!”

Vex obeyed instantly. Saracen’s voice left no room for thought and Dexter lowered his hand, half-turning his head. A steep crease dug into his brow when he saw his husband being restrained by one of Corvo’s inky figures. Both his arms were behind his back and thin trail of bluish black ink trailed across his throat. Dexter never doubted that it could and would kill him in an instant. Now of all times Saracen had not known about their impending doom? Sometimes he thought Saracen’s power was mocking him.

“Saracen …” Dexter said and cried out when Ciardha painfully grabbed and hauled him into a standing position, shadows wrapping around his arms, legs and throat.

“Be a good boy, Vex and your sweetheart might live to see tomorrow”, she drawled and grinned, wiping the blood from her face.

Dexter growled in response but didn’t fight back. His attention was on Mila Corvo who was walking towards them. Behind her silently floated five of the ink-people. They had no features, not even real faces and their bodies were shapeless and wavy at the edges as the ink moved and flowed.  
One of the ink figures led a numb and dazed Lagrima, who had her arms wrapped protectively around her midsection. Her complexion was so pale she almost seemed translucent and her eyes were dull and unfocused. Dexter was not sure she even knew what was happening as she staggered along, most likely only on her feet because of her captor grabbing her upper arm as though it was their last life line.

Saracen’s eyes widened when he saw two ink-people drag Anton Shudder along. “How on earth-” He didn’t finish the question and continued to stare at the scene before him. Skulduggery had arrived two minutes ago. Maybe less. If he assumed Anton had been with him, that meant, in this short time Corvo had taken out Anton without much of a fight. She was not even breaking a sweat. She must have surprised him or used Lagrima against him.

“Vex. Saracen”, Corvo greeted with a nod when she was close enough. She looked worn and tired but her eyes were determined and it was clear that Corvo would not let herself be distracted. Not now.

Dexter raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss anything? You two on a first name basis?”

“Long story”, Saracen sighed and Dexter shrugged.

Skulduggery was manhandled across the open space by Drawn and pushed to his knees next to Saracen and Dexter. “I surrendered. I was not beaten”, he declared.

“I feel better already knowing that”, Saracen huffed sarcastically.

“Do we kill them?” Ciardha wanted to know.

Corvo shook her head. “Not yet. We still have to verify that I can open a portal by using the energy released when someone dies. I am not sure the amulet is capable of absorbing and transforming this energy. Better we have several people to experiment with.”

“I don’t mean to rain on your parade, Mila, but you don’t have the amulet and as far as I am concerned you probably won’t get it. The shields are still up.”

Corvo smiled and Saracen felt the hairs on his arms stand. “Yedra is onto it. She is very good at liberating things.”

Dexter glanced at his husband. “We have seen what she is capable of. Liberating you say?” He smirked. “Yedra actually liberated Saracen. Without her, I probably wouldn’t have been able to save him.”

Corvo didn’t even hesitate. “I am aware.”

Dexter dropped his grin and gulped. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. Yedra is only completely loyal to herself and what she really seeks are fights. If I had killed Saracen, who would she have fought? You? Without wanting to rain on your parade I think, that would have been a meagre substitution.” 

Anton raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

Corvo turned her back on them, overlooking the parking lot. “Yedra has been hyped for hours at the prospect of fighting a man who knew things. She thought he must be able to predict patterns and attacks. Turns out Saracen’s power isn’t that great at all. Yedra was really disappointed.”

Saracen harrumphed.

“You sure have a lot of history”, Skulduggery remarked drily but was ignored. Saracen still pouted while Dexter was busy scowling. “I really do hate to interrupt but I think the woman in question is approaching. And uh … it looks like we have a problem.”

Yedra was stalking towards them, one hand in her pocket, the other fisted Noah’s waistcoat at the back of his neck. She herded the receptionist whose hands were tied behind his back, in front of her and then carelessly pushed him to the ground. Noah yelped as his knees scraped over the rough tar. With a last disparaging glance at Noah, Yedra pulled a wrapped object from her pocket and handed it to Corvo. Nobody needed to wait for her to reveal what was inside to know it was the amulet. Corvo’s eyes started to shine and a smile tugged at her lips. 

“Noah?” Saracen asked carefully. “What did she tell you? What did she promise you?”

The receptionist didn’t answer and kept his head lowered. Saracen was about to ask again, when finally, Noah, whispered. “I am so sorry. There was no choice …”

“There is always a choice, Noah”, Dexter almost snapped. He didn’t blame the man, he blamed himself. How had he not realized that Noah might be overwhelmed by the whole situation. After all, it had only been two days ago that he had been introduced to the world of magic. He had been attacked, threatened and shaken in fear of what might happen to not only him but the entire town. How had Dexter not seen that Noah might break down under this weight? He had relied on Noah, he had seen his usefulness, his eagerness to help and he had simply taken it for granted. 

Noah lowered his head even more and sat back on his heels. “I am sorry.”

“What did she promise you?” Anton asked, a hard line digging into his brow.

“That she wouldn’t kill your friends.”

Dexter frowned, obviously confused. “What? We are all here.”

For the first time, Skulduggery cut into the conversation. “Two men, one with scars and one with golden eyes?”

Noah nodded jerkily. “They engaged her but she almost easily overpowered them and threatened to kill them if I didn’t give her the amulet and act as a hostage. I … I didn’t know what to do, I was petrified. She was about to kill the golden-eyed and I – I just complied.” Noah had gone quieter with every word.

“Where are they?”

Yedra huffed. “I do stay true to my word. They are tied to a street sign. Alive. We won’t be bothered for a while.”

“It might have been risky to leave them out of your sights, Yedra”, Drawn pointed out. “They are quite lively.” To underline his words he shook Skulduggery who offered an irritated grunt at the treatment.

Saracen shook his head. “Why, Noah? After everything we did, after all this fighting, you just gave up?”

Noah flinched at the harsh words. “I couldn’t see them killed!”

“If we don’t stop Corvo, they are going to die any-”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have acted exactly the same, Mr. Rue! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done everything to save your friends. There is no way you can convince me that you wouldn’t have damned the world in order to save your comrades, your family!”

“They mean nothing to you.”

“How can you say that? Obviously, I don’t even know their names but they are humans, people who don’t deserve to die. For that alone I couldn’t bear to watch them be executed in front of me. And on top of that, they are your friends! You would have cursed my name had I not given in and handed over the amulet. Your comrades are alive because I was weak and you are glad about it!” Noah shouted the last words, earning surprised looks from the mages around him.

Corvo raised an eyebrow, finally gracing Noah with a glance. “The Mortal shows spirit, I like that. You will have the entire night to talk about this.” She started walking towards the hotel. “We take them with us.”

**ooOoOoo**

“We are not trusting her, do we?” Erskine asked as he and Ghastly abandoned their look-out post to follow the small procession of prisoners and their captors.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She will probably sell us out this very second. Or not. Who knows. Noah, however, he seems pretty trustworthy. He put on a good show just now and I think both Saracen and Dexter not only like but also rely on him.”

Erskine nodded. “I am not sure it was wise to let him help, though. He is a civilian after all. Brave but inexperienced. Do you think he would have given up the amulet hadn’t it been for us?”

The Dead Men had seen Noah arguing with Yedra and after a short scuffle, the Elemental had been subdued. Albeit tricky and cunning Yedra was, after hearing what she had to say, the mages had decided to take the risk and convinced Noah to hand the amulet over. The man had been relieved that the decision was no longer on his shoulders, and at the same time he had offered his help.

“You don’t know what you are getting yourself into”, Erskine had tried to reason but his words had fallen on deaf ears. In the end, Ghastly had agreed. Together, they had seen to it that two of the oldest teens were taking care of the other children. They would be returning home, or rather to the orphanage out of town. It explained why nobody had come looking for them – the headmaster most certainly wanted to sweep the matter of twenty children disappearing under the carpet.

“I honestly can’t say. From what Vex told me on the phone, no questions were asked when he brought a half-dead Saracen in. Even an oaf would realise that that would be dangerous. I am worried, too but he is a good man. Besides”, he smirked, “the others might need someone with brains for a change.”

Erskine laughed and shook his head. “Do we split up? Someone needs to take care of those soldiers down there, otherwise we can start anew tomorrow.”

“Right. You tail them while I clean up our mess and we meet at the Midnight Hotel in an hour. Anton still carries the cloaking sphere so I hope to keep this somewhat contained. But knowing us, I’ll call in the Memory Alteration specialist right now.”

“I have a feeling this is going to get ugly.”

Ghastly sighed. “When doesn’t it?”

**ooOoOoo**

The Dead Men and Noah were herded into the cellar of the town house and locked into a windowless room stuffed with shelves and filing cabinets. Ciardha made sure, they were all properly restrained with magic-binding handcuffs before leaving the confined space with a grin.

Lagrima was pushed into the room and unable to support herself, she ended up on the floor. Groaning, she pushed herself up and let herself fall back against a cabinet. Lagrima had her eyes closed and focused on steadying her breathing but wasn’t very successful. Her hands were pressed on her stomach and she trembled.

“Lagrima? Hey, Lagrima! You have to stay awake”, Saracen urged and crouched down in front of the girl. “If you fall asleep, there is no guarantee you will wake up again.”

“What do you care?” Lagrima whispered almost too faint to hear.

Saracen winced. “We didn’t abandon you, it was a scam to save you.”

“Great job.”

Dexter joined Saracen on the ground. “You are our friend, Lagrima. We would do anything to save you and if we had to battle all the monsters of the Otherworld.”

Lagrima coughed and clenched her teeth at the pain. “I have a hard time believing that.”

The Dead Men exchanged worried looks. Lagrima needed medical attention but their hands were tied in quite the literal sense. 

“Can you pick the lock of handcuffs?” Dexter asked suddenly. “You are the only one who has their hands cuffed in front of their body. I need you to pick Skulduggery’s cuffs.”

“Why?” Lagrima snarled. “So you can escape and leave me behind again?”

“That’s not it. He is the only Elemental and thus the only one who can tend to your wounds. We can always try to escape but now might be the only time to at least bind your injuries … it’s a priority.”

Lagrima stared at Dexter and then at Saracen before lowering her head. “I am sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Skulduggery, if you please.”

The skeleton shuffled over and after a lot of manoeuvring and grunting, he finally stretched his hands towards Lagrima who pulled a bobby pin from the rim of her jacket and started to work. It took her longer than any of them expected, the trembling of her hands making the process more difficult. Finally, the cuffs opened.

Skulduggery knelt down next to Lagrima, silently talking to her while he picked the lock of her handcuffs.

“I am sorry”, Noah suddenly said. “I lied to you.”

“We can talk about this later”, Saracen said coolly.

“Your friends weren’t beaten by Miss Yedra. It was the other way around. And they haven’t escaped like Miss Yedra wanted to make Miss Corvo believe when they were not tied to the street sign any more where Miss Yedra had apparently left them. This part has never happened.”

Anton cocked his head to the side. “So where are they now?”

“That I don’t know. Miss Yedra had been offering me an alliance but I was too scared to make a terrible mistake if I accepted. That was when your friends came along and well, it was decided that we give the amulet to Miss Corvo for the time being.”

“Wow. Ghastly and Erskine really need to work on their planning skills. This is awful”, Dexter groaned. “I am sorry, Noah, that I doubted you.”

“Yeah, me too”, Saracen added and gave Noah an apologetic smile. He looked at Lagrima. “It just felt like we had been sacrificing too much to give up that easily.”

Lagrima whimpered when Skulduggery carefully lifted her T-Shirt to inspect the injuries on her belly. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Good. I am very sorry but this will hurt.”

“You don’t say”, Lagrima huffed. She knew she was being unreasonably harsh and sarcastic but the pain radiating from her stomach was overpowering.

“Has any of you got any leaves to dull the pain?”

Collective shaking of heads.

Skulduggery cleared his throat and looked at the others for silent consent. Saracen nodded almost imperceptibly. The skeleton nodded in return, drew his arm back and punched the girl against the side of the head. Lagrima toppled to the side and into Skulduggery’s arms. Gently, he lay her down and quickly removed his suit jacket to provide a make-shift pillow.

“Are you out of your mind?” Noah shouted.

Without turning around, Skulduggery took off his gloves and rolled his sleeves back up over his bones. “Do you want her to feel excruciating pain during the entire process? Believe me, you don’t want to hear those screams.” Skulduggery moved Lagrima’s T-Shirt and inspected the cuts and stab wounds more closely. There was blood everywhere. After a few moments, the skeleton started waving his hand and droplets of water gathered in front of him. He worked fast and efficiently but with no actual medical supplies there was little he could actually do.

“I need some sort of bandages.”

“How about your shirt? Since you don’t sweat it should be the least dirty piece of cloth we have at the moment”, Anton suggested and earned a stare he interpreted as ‘Seriously?’

Still, Skulduggery nodded and relieved himself of his shirt tearing it into long strips which he then carefully but firmly wrapped around the girl. There was nothing more he could do at the moment and he leaned back against a cabinet with a groan.

Noah tried not to stare at the skeleton. This was too weird.

“Would you care to uncuff us, too?” Saracen asked after a few moments.

Skulduggery cocked his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know? Because this is really uncomfortable? Besides, we might get a chance to escape.”

Anton shook his head. “I agree on the comfortableness but we should stay put. Lagrima is in no condition to even stand on her own. By escaping we would be risking her life.”

“By staying, too. Corvo wants to kill all of us. She wants to sacrifice Saracen, for God’s sake. And I don’t want to know what she has planned for Lagrima”, Dexter mused.

“I didn’t say it was the perfect solution.”

Skulduggery picked up the bobby pin and relieved the others of their handcuffs. “What makes Lagrima more special?”

“They share a lot of history. Lagrima didn’t want to go into detail but you could see, they were close once. I don’t know what exactly happened but I know that Corvo hurt her. Badly.”

Groaning, Lagrima came to again. One hand pressed against her stomach, she sat up and moved until she leaned against a cabinet. “Who punched me?” she winced and rubbed her head.

“Skulduggery.” Anton said calmly.

The skeleton tilted his head. “Thanks for the support, Anton.”

Shudder only shrugged and inched closer to the girl. “How to you feel?”

“Are you serious?”

“I am not particularly good at small talk”, Anton smiled apologetically. “I want to know about your past with Corvo. If there is one thing I hate, it is surprises by the enemy. So, don’t hold back.”

Lagrima clenched her teeth and she was obviously fighting with herself whether to trust the men. Finally, she nodded. “Alright.”

Dexter frowned. “How do you always get everyone to tell you what you want to know? You of all people?”

“I am no charmer like you, Dexter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lagrima leaned her head against the cabinet. “I never knew my parents and spent the first four years of my life in an orphanage until Mila took me in. I don’t know what she has seen in me. Maybe she realised I was a mage but honestly, I have no idea. Mila’s family was not the wealthiest but they were laden enough to have a big house and a gigantic library.”

The Dead Men and Noah listened intently, nobody daring to interrupt. Lagrima was still pale and had a slightly feverish air about her but it seemed she was doing better now the wounds were treated and she could sit down.

“I had a happy childhood and was brought up in the believe of the Faceless Ones but I never actually believed in them.”

“Oh, they exist”, Skulduggery threw in and grabbed his suit jacked, donned it and so covered at least half of his ribcage. “Believe me.”

Lagrima nodded. “I heard what happened to you and I was glad that nobody had been able to open a portal before. Mila was intrigued by them, enthralled even and I couldn’t see any harm in her excitement and accompanied her to church to make her happy. After all, I was grateful she was caring for me. Mila was giving me a proper education and introduced me to the world of magic. I was a pretty good Elemental until the … what do you call it? When your magical discipline becomes clear?”

“The Surge”, Saracen said.

“The Surge. I went through this when I was twenty-one and -”

“Excuse me for interrupting like this. You are older than twenty-one?” Anton asked surprised.

Saracen immediately jumped in. “Thin ice, Anton. Thin ice.”

With an exasperated sigh, Lagrima continued. “Mila became obsessed with the idea of opening a portal to let the Faceless Ones through or walk over there herself. Her eyes always sparkled and shone when she spoke of her theories. I let her talk, it made her happy and she did have the one or other interesting thing to say. But then she became more and more upset that she wouldn’t be able to put her theories into action because according to her a massive amount of energy was needed. I think I can pinpoint the exact moment in time when Mila snapped and something else took over. She was certain the energy released during my Surge would surely be enough.”

The Dead Men began to guess what had happened but remained quiet. They didn’t want to make it any harder for Lagrima to talk.

“At first I was indifferent and agreed to help. All I had to do was sit still and let the energy be absorbed by some construction Mila had dragged up from the cellars. Only, my Surge wouldn’t come and the months dragged by. I became more anxious with every passing day: Mila was not herself anymore but still I remained at her side, hoping that if only my Surge would come she would be back to normal.” Lagrima stopped and the others could see her lips tremble.

“Lagrima”, Saracen began quietly. “We can guess what happened. You don’t have to continue.”

“I have never told anyone about it but I think it’s time I got it off my shoulders”, Lagrima said and her voice was shaking. “In the end, Mila used force and I began to realise that she was not the person I used to know. She … she used her rune ink on me to kickstart my Surge. Whatever she tried, nothing worked and she grew even more impatient. It was one of the servants who helped me escape. Mila killed him and then sent her mercenaries after me. I got as far as Hamburg which is pretty far considering that she sent that bloodhound Yedra after me.”

Skulduggery tilted his head to the side. “The Elemental from before?”

“Yeah”, Saracen nodded. “We still don’t know who’s side she is on.”

“We’ll see”, Anton mused. “For how long … I mean …”

Lagrima snorted angrily. “A few days I was in her care before she finally forced my Surge to surface. How was yours?”

“Dreadful”, Skulduggery said.

“Abominable beyond imagining”, Anton added.

“Thinking back of the pain helped me get through quite some torture interrogation”, Saracen admitted. “I have never felt a stronger pain.”

“Bad”, Dexter said courtly.

Lagrima nodded. “This new pain was like a breeze compared to the agony Mila has inflicted on me. Not more than an annoying insect stinging at your insides. But I was angry and heart-broken. I wanted revenge. Mila had betrayed me in every possible manner and I wanted her to know how badly she had hurt me. I wanted an apology. I wanted everything to be as it had been before the Faceless Ones had corrupted Mila.  
And that is where everything went south. Nobody could have foreseen that I wouldn’t remain an Elemental. Suddenly, my whole body was engulfed in bristling electricity. A power, I couldn’t control and in combination with my furious desire for justice I struck out at Mila. I have no idea how it happened but the house was on fire. And then the next …”

Anton bit his lip. “Hamburg? Perhaps 1842? The Great Fire of Hamburg?”

“51 people died”, Lagrima whispered. “I killed them.”

Silence.

“Afterwards I vanished and took to the road, wandering aimlessly. Eventually I joined the Italian Sanctuary and became a Detective. I wanted to do some good even if I felt like a hypocrite and swindler. Only helping others because of the gnawing guilt bearing down on me for the lives I had taken.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” Dexter said earnestly.

“I killed them and I will try to make amends until the day I die. 51 people have been killed because I couldn’t control my rage, whether it was justified or not. They are dead and I am at fault. I am sure there are deaths you are blaming yourselves for and forever will.”

The Dead Men looked at one another knowingly. There was no fighting a war without sacrifices, unwanted deaths and lost comrades. All of them had their burden to bear and were plagued by nightmares.

“My name wasn’t always Lagrima Passero, you know. I used to have a different taken name but I abandoned it after my Surge. Mila would always call me passerotto, which means baby sparrow. Somehow I could not abandon this part of my life. I miss it.” Lagrima laughed mirthlessly. “Sick, right? I miss being with the person who almost tortured me to death.”

For the first time since Lagrima had started to tell her story, Noah spoke up. “It’s perfectly understandable.”

Surprised, everyone turned to the receptionist. “My parents were not the best ones out there and even though we didn’t particularly show love to one another, simply because it wasn’t there, I still miss the time when we were all together. Before they died. At least they were there.”

Anton nodded. “It makes perfect sense. The question is, are you willing to go back to her?”

“No”, Lagrima said. “Not after what happened between us. I don’t think I could.”

“A crying sparrow”, Skulduggery mused. “That’s pretty sad, don’t you think?”

Saracen nodded. “Indeed. How about we give you a nickname? How about … Ree?”

“Ree?” Dexter frowned, obviously not convinced.

Anton snorted. “Don’t be silly.”

“No, I like that”, Lagrima smiled. “Ree. I’ve never had a nickname before.”

“About time then”, Saracen smirked and awkwardly patted her head.

When hours later the door opened, the Dead Men were lounging on the floor and against filing cabinets as though there were having a picknick in the greens. Dexter jerked awake and blinked into the light. Saracen gently ran his fingers through Dexter’s hair. The blond had been sleeping peacefully on his lap for the last hour and now neither could be bothered by Drawn.

Cursing, Drawn had a sword of ice appear in his right hand and went to retrieve the cuffs neatly stacked on a shelf next to the door. When nobody moved, he drew his brows together warily. “No escaping?”

“Maybe later”, Anton said and yawned for good measure.

“We like it here. Cosy. Roof over our heads and excellent company”, Skulduggery added.

Drawn grinned. “As you wish, Gentlemen. But I am taking the lady.” Before anyone could react, Drawn had pulled Lagrima onto her feet which caused her to cry out in pain as her wounds were stretched and jostled.

“No! Leave her alone!” Skulduggery was on his feet but too late. Drawn dragged Lagrima out of the small archive and let the door click shut. From outside they heard him snicker.

“The princess has an appointment with her long lost mother. Let’s see if she will be still alive after all this catching up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in ages. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoyed it! =)


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